


the unquiet grave

by nishiki



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger Management, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Margrethe/Ubbe, Brother Feels, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heahmund/Ivar only in chapter 11, Hurt Ivar, Hurt Ivar Ragnarsson, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Ubbe, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Serious Injuries, no love triangles here, past Bjorn/Torvi, protective Bjorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: After the death of his father and stepmother, Bjorn is left in charge of the family estate and his younger brothers. A car crash devastates the family soon after and leaves the sons or Ragnar in turmoil as they now have to face a new reality and deal with the difficulties that come with it as they try to keep their family together and their brotherly bond strong.
Relationships: Bjorn & Hvitserk & Ivar & Sigurd & Ubbe (Vikings), Bjorn & Hvitserk (Vikings), Bjorn & Ivar (Vikings), Bjorn & Sigurd (Vikings), Bjorn & Ubbe (Vikings), Floki & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings), Hvitserk & Ivar (Vikings), Hvitserk & Ubbe (Vikings), Ivar & Sigurd (Vikings), Ivar & Ubbe (Vikings), Margrethe/Ubbe (Vikings)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 102





	1. Prologue

He had failed. He had failed his father. He had failed his stepmother. He had failed his brothers. He had failed every single member of his family. More than anyone he had failed Sigurd and Ivar because he had not been there to put a stop to it before the inevitable could happen. And now he couldn't go back any longer. Now he could no longer do anything. The world had already ended, the bomb already exploded, everything had already been destroyed. The only thing Bjorn Ragnarsson could do was sit next to the bed in that tiny white room and hold his brother’s hand. 

_“Listen, I said what I had to say about this party,” Bjorn said and held his gaze fixed on his two youngest brothers. “I can’t hinder you guys from going, I am very aware of that - but if you go and decide to get stupidly drunk and can’t drive home again, I’m not going to come to pick you up.”_

_“Ubbe-”_

_“No,” Bjorn interrupted Sigurd. “Neither will Ubbe or Hvitserk. If you guys decide to go, that is your decision and you will have to be responsible enough to either stay there until morning or not get drunk at all so you can get home by yourself. If you want to be treated like adults, you should act like adults.”_

Looking back on everything, he should have just picked them up. He was the oldest brother, after all. He was _their_ big brother. When his father Ragnar had died a couple of years ago, he had told him that he always needed to be there for them, always needed to look out for them. Bjorn was now the head of the family. And when his stepmother Aslaug followed his father, she too would have beseeched him to watch out for his brothers, to take care of them, if her death hadn’t come as such a surprise. He was the one in charge of those four boys. He was the one who was supposed to keep them safe. But, to teach them a lesson, he had contributed to this tragedy. 

He should have just picked them up that night.

Now, one of his little brothers was dead. _Sigurd_ was dead. And Ivar … Ivar would probably never walk again.

**-End of Chapter 1-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am pretty new to the Vikings fandom (I just finished watching all the seasons up to S6 A in the past two weeks), so bear with me. I didn't want to write this fanfiction initially but it wouldn't leave my head - so, here we are. The prolog is fairly short, the other chapters will be longer. Tell me what you think, feedback is highly appreciated!
> 
> Also, I update at least once a week, so no worries, this will be finished <3


	2. 3 AM

“It's just a party, Bjorn,” Ivar groaned and rolled his eyes at his oldest brother's stubborn refusal to allow him to be a proper teenager. He was sixteen, after all! Every sixteen-year-old teenager would want to go to a party on a Friday night. Why shouldn't he and Sigurd go? Just because their oldest brother and parental guardian said no? Just because their oldest brother and parental guardian was the most boring person in recorded history?

Bjorn was thirty-four years old and he already had three children - even though his eldest son was not his biological child. Bjorn had done everything right. He had finished his school with straight As, went to college, got a degree, started working at their father’s company in a high position others could only dream of having, married a nice girl, and started to reproduce. At the age of just twenty-six, Bjorn Ragnarsson had made their father proud and there had been nothing else for him left to do. In other words, his brother Bjorn was a thirty-four-year-old grandpa and he actually reveled in his role as the guardian of his two youngest brothers ever since his divorce from Torvi a year ago. Yes, Bjorn Ragnarsson had done everything right in his life, everything to make their father Ragnar proud but never anything that he had wanted to do for himself. Nobody knew this as well as his younger brothers. Bjorn had always dreamed of traveling the world - instead, he had opted for the boring and stable life. 

“Come on,” Sigurd, his older brother tried as Bjorn didn't seem to be swayed by Ivar’s, admittedly, weak argument. Poor Sigurd had even gone to the hairdressers earlier today to get his mop of blonde hair, that would always curl at the ends if it reached a certain length, under control. If Bjorn would get his way, all that would be for nothing! Of course, Ivar, as Sigurd’s more clever and more handsome brother couldn't allow such a tragedy, such a waste of potential. After all, he knew that Sigurd wanted to impress a girl at that party and it was about time he scored a proper girlfriend. Frankly, Ivar was tired of his moping around and playing guitar like a moody dingus. “Have you never gone to any parties when you were a teenager?”

“Of course not, Sigurd!” Ivar shot back teasingly and with thunder in his eyes as he looked at Bjorn again. 

Perfect Bjorn, with the perfect looks and the sunny smiles. Perfect Bjorn, in his perfect designer suit and his perfect leather shoes that were always polished to perfection. Perfect Bjorn, who was loved by everyone while Ivar only served to irritate people. Sometimes, if you can’t win your older brother with honey, you have to goad him into an argument. He had learned that throughout his life. It came with the territory of being the baby of the family. Only because his parents - especially his mother - had always been inclined to spoil their baby, that didn't mean that his older brothers were the same. 

In fact, one could argue that Ivar had always had a much harder time getting what he wanted from his brothers just _because_ he was the baby, and _because_ his parents had spoiled him rotten. Making puppy eyes at his brothers had never quite worked. That too he had needed to learn throughout his life. The last time he had tried it on Ubbe, his big brother had picked him up and sat him on top of the fridge. He had been four years old and hadn't been able to get back down by himself without the risk of breaking a bone or two. Yet, Ivar was not willing to give up this battle against Bjorn. He too had done some maintenance work on himself for that party. Unlike his brother, he wasn’t going to impress anyone, though. He was just excited that he was being invited at all. 

“Our dear brother, the pinnacle of what it means to be disciplined and hard-working, the pride of our father’s life, the crown jewel in King Ragnar’s crown, never went to any parties when he was our age.”

“Yeah, because he spent all his time studying,” Sigurd snorted and brushed a strand of blonde hair behind his left ear. It wasn’t often that Ragnar’s two youngest sons worked together but when they did, they were a force to be reckoned with. 

“Well, I wanted to say that he never went to any party because he didn't have any friends who actually invited him to any parties, but yes, that too would have been a reason. Although, one could argue, that the reason why our dear brother spent his nights studying instead of partying was _because_ he didn't get any invitations. So maybe he would have wanted to go and just couldn't and thus-”

“ _Thus_ he forbids us from going,” Sigurd nodded. “Because he is jealous of our youth and popularity.”

“Exactly, dear Sigurd.”

“Nice try,” Bjorn snorted in response. He remained steadfast like a rock in a stormy sea, his arms crossed, his hands shoved into his armpits. It was the stance of an older brother who was tasked to babysit his little siblings and would not give them an inch of freedom because he very well knew that they would take it and run with it until the house would be burning down. Bjorn still acted as if he was only here for the night to watch them and as if their parents would return later tonight to set him free from this obligation and send him home.

Well, maybe that was a hope that all five of them shared secretly. Only a year ago their mother had died in a freak accident when the heel of her stiletto had broken off while she had been walking down a flight of stairs. It was a senseless death and sometimes Ivar still had a hard time understanding that she wouldn't walk through that door, the offending shoe in her hand, and complaining about how the stiletto almost killed her. 

Her death was still a fresh wound, the weight of the loss still heavy on all of their shoulders. Well, maybe except for Bjorn. He had never been the biggest fan of his stepmother. It was understandable. After all, as far as twelve-year-old Bjorn had been concerned, his parents had been happily married before Aslaug had waltzed into his life, nine-months pregnant with their brother Ubbe and, more or less, shoved Lagertha out of her own house and marriage. But was it their mother’s fault for knowing what she wanted and not settling for less? Was it their mother’s fault that their father had cheated on his first wife? Their father had always been a cheat and he stayed a cheat even during his second marriage - only that his second wife hadn’t been too bothered by it. Aslaug had secured her standing and her place in the family by giving Ragnar four sons, after all. Something Lagertha hadn’t been able to do. Ivar wasn’t naive either. He knew that his mother had had her fair share of affairs as well throughout the years. 

“I am almost eighteen!” Sigurd tried a different approach. “I mean, come on!”

“You are not eighteen yet, though, dear Sigurd, and I am responsible for you guys. _Thus_ you are still not going,” Bjorn added after a moment of careful consideration of their arguments. He was just as stubborn as the rest of them - a trait that they had all inherited from their father. Without a certain amount of stubbornness, Ragnar would never have made it this far in life, after all. So, all things considered, his five sons should be proud to be stubborn assholes. “Ask Ubbe, if you don't trust my judgment.”

“Ubbe,” Ivar snorted with a dramatic roll of his eyes and crossed his arms just like his big brother. “Ubbe will say the same thing you do because he is too much of a god-damn pussy to object and go against what you say.”

Over Sigurd’s snickering, he could hear Ubbe shout from the kitchen in affront. Even in a house as big as theirs, it seemed like the five of them were always gravitating around each other. “It's true,” Sigurd mocked now that he knew that they had an audience. “Ubbe wants to be just like you, Bjorn.”

The sigh that left Bjorn’s throat didn't nearly sound as defeated as Ivar would have liked it to sound but he knew that they were on the right track regardless. Maybe now it would be time for a change in strategy and get out the big guns. It was time for the puppy eyes. It was time for the pity party. 

“Why is this party so important to you guys anyway?”

There it was: his opening - a chance he could use against Bjorn. His big brother had just handed him a knife without realizing it and Ivar was intent on pushing it through Bjorn’S ribs and twisting it until he got what he wanted. 

“It's just,” He started and shared a small glance with Sigurd before he started fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt just enough to be noticeable but not enough to look like a show. He and Sigurd were not always on the best terms just because Sigurd was … well, Sigurd, but right now his older brother seemed to trust his approach. Leave it to the baby of the family to get his way. “It's just … since Mom died … we didn't really go out or had fun. At school, everyone pities us and looks at us differently, you know? The other kids don't treat us like they used to. That sucks. So … Now that they actually invited us to come to that party…”

“It's our chance back to normality,” Sigured added helpfully and gave his best attempt at looking miserable in the face of their brother's cruelty. “Also … I’m going to leave home soon for college. You know that I got accepted at Juilliard!” Ivar suppressed a snort. Of course, Bjorn knew about the Juilliard. Everyone and their uncle Bob knew about that. “It might be our last chance to go to a party together like this. And … I mean, wouldn't you feel better knowing that Ivar isn’t going there alone? I can watch out for him and he can watch out for me.” 

He noticed how Ubbe finally stuck his head in the room. Perfect. Ubbe was soft. Softer than Bjorn was. The way Ubbe looked now, his hair tousled from loafing around on the sofa for hours, his suit already discarded in favor of comfortable jeans and a shirt, and in need of a proper shave said as much. He was Bjorn-light, so to say. The moment Ubbe looked at his two youngest brothers and heard their tale, his eyes immediately softened. They had won. Realizing that Ubbe was there to watch his judgment of the youngest Ragnarssons, Bjorn looked at Ubbe over his shoulder and dropped his shoulders. He too knew that they had won.

“Listen, I said what I had to say about this party,” Bjorn said and held his gaze fixed on his two youngest brothers. Defeat clearly written in his blue eyes. “I can't hinder you guys from going, I am very aware of that - but if you go and decide to get stupidly drunk and can't drive home again, I’m not going to come and pick you up.”

“Ubbe-”

“No,” Bjorn interrupted Sigurd. “Neither will Ubbe or Hvitserk. If you guys decide to go, that is your decision and you will have to be responsible enough to either stay there until morning or not get drunk at all so you can get home by yourself. If you want to be treated like adults, you should act like adults.”

“We won’t get drunk”, Sigurd promised right away - ever the good son and brother, the one who would act responsibly. Even though they all knew that this was a promise neither one intended to keep. “I promise, Bjorn. No drinking and driving.”

“I trust you,” Bjorn said sternly. “Don't let me down, guys.”

※※※※※※※

It was the worst call any person could ever get in the middle of the night. It was exactly the kind of call that would haunt parents in their dreams or keep them up all night when their children were out of the house. 

Bjorn Ragnarsson was eighteen years older than his youngest brother Ivar. When Ivar had been born, he had already been an adult, graduating from school and about to start college. It had been the coldest and longest winter to hit Norway in almost two decades when Ivar had been born. That night, a blizzard had hit Kattegat and all the roads had been blocked. They had all been home because of it. His stepmother hadn’t been able to go to the hospital, forced to have her youngest child at home against her clear wishes. Ivar had been born prematurely. Two months too early, in fact. The whole thing had been a nightmare. Screaming for hours on end. 

He remembered, during her pregnancy, Aslaug had often complained about the little demon spawn inside of her - of it hurting more than usual, of something being wrong with the baby inside of her. But then Ivar had been born, adamant to join them before his due day, stubborn like the rest of them already. 

Bjorn had been there. In fact, he had been the first to hold his new baby brother. His father hadn't been home that night - sleeping in his office because he couldn't get through the snow. He remembered holding Ivar, shocked and horrified and his heart exploding with love for how incredibly tiny he had been. He had been so tiny, so fragile that just holding him in his arms had made his heart stop for a second.

Aslaug and Ivar almost died that night. The birth had been hard on his stepmother. She had lost too much blood, nearly succumbed to her injuries. After that, she hadn’t been able to have more children and a part of Bjorn was convinced that she was glad about it. That night, all Bjorn had been able to do was hold his baby brother close to his chest, give him as much warmth as he possibly could and hope that he would pull through. 

This night, as he was shaken out of a strange dream, it was snowing just as heavily as it had in the days leading up to Ivar’s birth. He woke up with a feeling of dread in his stomach as he heard the phone ringing on his bedside table. For a second, he felt like the world had tilted on its side and left its orbit. Something wasn’t quite right. Then, with a groan, he grabbed blindly for his phone. His alarm clock told him that it was three in the morning. It was probably Ivar calling to ask his big brother to pick him and Sigurd up after all. Ivar knew just as well as Bjorn that, despite all those big words, of course, Bjorn would jump in his car and pick up his baby brothers. He would do everything to ensure that they would get home safely. It was just … Ivar was cocky and he liked to test out his boundaries. He didn't take Bjorn seriously as his guardian. Their father had always said that Ivar needed a hard hand and tough love - but he had said it with a twinkle in his eyes and given Ivar the toy or the candy he wanted regardless of his words. Nobody could deny Ivar anything. Not even Bjorn. 

Especially not Bjorn. Bjorn, who had held his tiny baby brother in his arms for hours - afraid that he wouldn't be able to do enough to keep him safe.

He didn't Look at the number on the display and just pushed back his blanket to get out of bed right away. "Alright," He breathed into the phone as he rubbed his face with his free hand, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes at last. "You won, Ivar. I'm gonna pick you up."

"Mr. Ragnarsson?" The voice of a tired sounding woman said on the other end. The sound made him stop dead in his tracks. He felt ghostly fingers running up and down his naked back, every hair on his body standing up in alert. Something was wrong. He could taste it in the air like blood. His heart was hammering against the cage of his ribs. Something was wrong. 

"Yeah?" He finally got out through clenched teeth. His jaw hurt. Something was wrong. 

"I am calling from Hedeby hospital. You are noted as the emergency contact for Mr. Ivar Ragnarsson and Mr. Sigurd Ragnarsson."

His heart was beating out of his chest. Surely, it wasn't anything serious. Surely, Ivar had just gotten both of them into a fight and broke his nose or something. Ivar’s bones broke so easily. He used to be so fragile. Surely, Sigurd was just too drunk to get them home. He wasn't naive, after all. He knew that none of them had ever intended to keep their promise. "Yeah?" He said again before he added: “They are my brothers.” And even to his own ears, his voice sounded weak and shaky. 

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I have to inform you that your brothers were involved in a car accident and have been admitted to the emergency room half an hour ago."

His heart stopped and for the longest time, he didn't say anything. His mouth was completely dry. He couldn't speak. His tongue was twisted - and then he realized what she had said. "Wait," He said. "Is everything alright? Are they okay? How bad is it? Is Ivar okay? What’s with Sigurd?" 

Sigurd, who had been accepted at the Juilliard School and was ecstatic to finally leave Norway to make his mark on the world as a musician. She would tell him that Sigurd was fine. She would say that Ivar had broken his leg or his arm or something. She would tell him that Sigurd was just drunk but otherwise okay. She was quiet for too long.

"Please, come as quickly as possible, Sir."

※※※※※※※

He was at his girlfriend's house when the call came. Once again, Ubbe Ragnarsson had failed to break up with Margrethe. By now he didn't know anymore how often he came to her apartment to break up with her only to end up in her bed. His brothers would laugh at him, say that he had no backbone. And they would be right about that. Ubbe knew that sometimes he was as easy to sway as the tides sometimes, while he was assertive most other times. Something about Margrethe made him forgo his initial plans of dumping her every time. Maybe it was her manipulative ways - that she had in common with Ivar. Unlike Ivar, however, the girl was crazy and desperately tried to throw a wrench between him and Hvitserk for some reason.

In the beginning, Margrethe had been exactly what he wanted. Sweet, cute, pretty. But now, two months later, she started to turn into a complete psychopath and she hated his family without a doubt. Maybe he was too soft. Why else was he unable to break up with her? Ivar always said that he was too soft - but he did it to mock and tease his big brother. Maybe he was right. Ivar had the annoying tendency to be right. When he was born, he had barely been bigger than a two-liter bottle of coke and now he was the mouthiest little shit he knew.

As his phone rang on the nightstand beside him, he grabbed for it without thinking twice. He didn't even look at the time. Outside of the window of Margrethe’s bedroom in one of the new highrise apartments in Kattegat, the night was still dark but he could see snowflakes silently fall to the ground. Margrethe was lying next to him on the bed on her side, her head on his shoulder and one arm wrapped around her. Her silk nightgown shimmered enticingly in the darkness of the room, her long blonde hair pooled on the pillow but she didn't show any sign of waking up yet.

"What is it?" He muttered sleepily into his phone as he saw Bjorn’s name pop up on the display. A twinge of worry twisted his stomach. 

"You need to come to the hospital in Hedeby,” Bjorn said and Ubbe’s stomach dropped. “Ivar and Sigurd had an accident."

Next to him, on the bed, Margrethe stirred and let out an annoyed groan but Ubbe got out of bed and jumped into his jeans before she could say anything. "I'll be right there - are they alright?"

"It's-" Bjorn hesitated and that was never a good sign. 

"Bjorn, just spit it out!" He bit out as he pulled up his zipper and fumbled to get into his knitted sweatshirt. Outside it would be bitingly cold. He couldn't just leave in a simple shirt. He was amazed that his brain managed to think about that despite the panic that was flooding his system. 

"It's bad, Ubbe,” Bjorn finally replied in a sigh. “Just … drive safely, okay? Hvitserk and I will wait for you here."

As he hung up, his mind was racing. He finally managed to get his sweatshirt on and jumped in his shoes as Margrethe finally realized that her boyfriend had other plans for tonight than coming back to be to her. 

"What's going on?" The sound of Magrethe’s voice made him jump. He had all but forgotten about her but now, as he turned around, she was staring at him out of round, confused eyes.

"Ivar and Sigurd had an accident," He replied quickly and tried to swallow down the panic that made his throat tight at these words. He felt like he was suffocating. "They are in the hospital. I have to go."

"Are they dead?"

"What? No!"

"Well, what's the hurry then?” Margrethe asked incredulously, her face the same unmoving mask it always seemed to be when Ubbe talked about his family. Sometimes he wasn’t quite sure if she wasn't a robot. “It's not like you could do anything for them, right? Come back to bed. You can go in the morning. You promised you would buy me breakfast at this nice cafe down the street."

"Are you kidding me?" He just stared at her for a moment, his mouth hanging open in shock at her words.

"What?"

"My brothers could die and all you think about is having breakfast at some fancy cafe?"

"I'm just saying: why would you want to sit around at some hospital and wait?” She cocked her head as if the seriousness of the situation truly didn't get through her head. It wouldn't be the first time that Margrethe would react in such a way. “You can't help and if they die you can't do anything either! Your brothers surely would want you to enjoy your life, right?"

"You are … unbelievable." He shook his head and quickly headed for the door before she could say or do anything else. He grabbed his coat from the coat rag and pulled the scarf out of the sleeve when Margrethe’s voice sounded again from the bedroom. 

"Remember that my parents invited us to dinner tonight!"

Ubbe was already out the door, slamming it shut behind him, and running down the stairs into the garage of the apartment house. He did drive carefully like Bjorn asked him to but his heart was beating out of his chest the entire time he was on the road. On the country road between Kattegat and Hedeby, he had to slow down as the police and fire department were taking care of a car wreck. A reporter was taking photos of the scene. 

In the darkness, Ubbe needed a second to realize that it was Sigurd’s car. He had gotten it for his seventeenth birthday last June. Sigurd was turning eighteen in just a couple of months. He felt his stomach turn and fought the urge to vomit or pull over. The car was a wreck. The driver's side was smashed and caved in and there was a bloodied hole in the windshield. _Ivar_ , he thought numbly. Sigurd had lost control over the car on the icy road and drove it against a tree and Ivar, who had probably been drunk and not wearing his seatbelt, went flying out the windshield. Fuck. He could see it play out in front of him. Ivar lying in the snow in his own blood, half-dead, Sigurd trapped and helpless in the driver's seat until help arrived. He had read somewhere that the passenger was always more likely to die in a crash than the driver. That thought was floating around in his head now. He knew that the statistic spoke about crashes where two cars slammed into each other but that didn't change anything about the words floating around in his head in bold letters now.

He almost stopped at the horrifying sight but then he soldiered on through the flurry of fresh snow. He was of no help to his brothers here but he couldn't get the image of Ivar lying in the snow out of his mind. It clung to him still as he arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later. He didn't even feel the cold as he hurried through the parking lot towards the doors of the hospital.

The glass doors slid open for him and Ubbe headed for the reception desk straight away. Before he reached the desk, however, he caught a glimpse of his brother Bjorn in the waiting area to the left of the reception. Quickly, he hurried towards him, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw the doctor standing with him. Hvitserk was sitting on one of the chairs, his face hidden in his hands but even from afar Ubbe could tell that his body was wracked with sobs that rolled over him like waves during a storm. Bjorn’s face, on the other hand, was unreadable as he listened to the doctor, nodding mechanically to signalize that he was listening and understanding even though he probably heard nothing the man in the white coat had to say. The moment Ubbe saw Hvitserk cry, he knew that Ivar was dead. Ivar, who had flown through the windshield and landed in the snow.

Everything was white noise. He felt like he was suffocating as he watched the doctor leave. Bjorn just stood there, staring at the space the man had occupied just seconds earlier.

"Bjorn!" He called out without even deciding to. His body decided for him to break the spell. He wished he hadn't because as Bjorn whipped his head around to face him, his eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his face deathly pale. He looked like he was about to vomit. Ubbe’s body walked over towards his brothers without his consent and before he knew it, Bjorn had pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace. He could feel Bjorn’s nose press into his neck, he could feel the tears prickling his skin. Ubbe braced himself to hear the words he had been dreading ever since he woke up and yet nothing could have prepared for what came out of Bjorn’s mouth.

"Sigurd," His big brother sobbed against his shoulder. "Sigurd is dead."

※※※※※※※

Nothing made sense. Sigurd was dead. Hvitserk's world was no longer the same. First his father, then his mother, and now his little brother. Hvitserk was the third of five brothers, putting him right in the middle. The mediator. He was the one who had mended the bridges between all of them, a protector for the little guys, a friend, a playmate. He had often teamed up with Sigurd to tease Ivar or with Ivar to annoy Sigurd. And now Sigurd was dead.

He should have been a better brother. He should have offered to drive or pick them up. He should have gone with them or have Bjorn’s back when he said no to them. If he had been there to have his brother’s back against the unstoppable force that was their little brother Ivar, maybe then Sigurd would still be alive. 

“I should’ve stood my ground,” Bjorn mumbled as they sat in the waiting room of the hospital with plastic cups of cheap coffee in their hands that Ubbe had gotten them all. He had needed something to do to busy himself and just to … do something. “This wouldn't have happened if I would have put my foot down and said no. I knew that it wasn’t a good idea. I knew they shouldn’t be going.”

“They would have snuck out,” Ubbe said quietly with a shrug. His big brother suddenly seemed very small and silent. Ubbe, who was always so vibrant, who always had a playful smirk on his face, who always had a sparkle of mischief in his blue eyes seemed now as if all the life had been drained from him. “You know Ivar… He would have snuck out and convinced Sigurd to come with him. There is nothing you could have done.”

“I could have said that I would drive them and pick them up. That's what a responsible person would have done, what a parent would have done. I mean … I have three kids! I should know this stuff! But I let my brothers go and now…”

“No one could have known that something like this would happen,” Hvitserk tried quietly to ease his brother’s mind even though he knew that it was a futile attempt. “No one, Bjorn.”

“I saw the wreck,” Ubbe suddenly interrupted them. “When I came here ... I had to drive past it. It looked … it was horrible. It looked like someone … _Ivar_ … flew right through the windshield. He probably didn't wear his seatbelt. He never does.”

“Do you think Ivar will pull through?” Hvitserk asked quietly, the question suddenly all he could think about. Losing Sigurd was horrible, it was too much to comprehend but if they would lose Ivar too now … He wouldn't be able to survive that. His two baby brothers… He used to play with them when they were little. He was only two years older than Sigurd. He had been four when Ivar had been born. He remembered standing at the side of his cot and staring until his baby brother woke up or his mother would shoo him away, happy that Ivar had been sleeping. 

“He’s been in the OR for three hours now,” Bjorn said quietly. “I don't know.”

An hour later, Ivar was still being operated on and sometimes a doctor would come by to give them updates on what was going on with their brother but Hvitserk didn't understand a thing they were trying to say to them. He just heard ‘internal bleeding’, ‘skull fracture’, ‘ruptured this and ruptured that’, ‘critical condition’, and decided to blend it all out. The sun was already rising slowly on the horizon when the police came to the hospital. The two cops arriving at the hospital looked tired and had probably been up all night by this point.

“Our condolences,” One of the two, an older gentleman with grey hair and a beard that needed shaving, addressed the three brothers. So, they had already heard the news, Hvitserk thought bitterly. They needed to tell everyone. Fuck. They needed to call their friends and family and … no one knew yet. He felt sweat clinging to his forehead at the thought. His whole body was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat. He felt disgusting as he sat here in yesterday’s clothing. Those had been the first things he had been able to grab when Bjorn had woken him up. “Your other brother is still undergoing operation?”

“Yes,” Bjorn said and cleared his throat. He was glad that Bjorn was here to take over this conversation. Hvitserk had no idea if he would be able to form a coherent sentence right now. “Yes … Ivar.”

“Can you … tell us what caused the crash?” Ubbe asked and he could see hope in his blue eyes. Hope that they would tell them that Sigurd had not been drunk behind the wheel. Hope that they would tell them that Sigurd had been forced to swerve because of some animal or another car or whatever else could have forced him to swerve.

“It looks like the driver lost control over the vehicle and hit a tree at the side of the road. The streets are slippery in weather like this. But we have to wait and see until he gets out of the OR to establish if alcohol or drugs had been at play here.”

“Ivar didn't drive,” Bjorn said quietly. He looked very old all of a sudden. The sunny-boy Hvitserk was so used to was gone and left the shell of an old man behind. He looked like their father during his last couple of weeks. “Ivar is sixteen, he doesn’t have his license yet. He doesn't know how to drive.” That's not true, Hvitserk wanted to say. Ubbe showed him last summer because Ivar had been so jealous of Sigurd and beseeched Ubbe until he gave in. “That was Sigurd’s car. He got it for his birthday...”

The cop exchanged a look with his partner - a young lady with dark hair and a sharp nose - and then started quickly looking through their notes. “Excuse me, Sir,” The lady-cop spoke up. “We spoke to the doctor a few minutes ago and he told us that the driver is still being operated on.”

“No,” Ubbe said. “No, Ivar didn’t … He…”

Ivar had driven the car. The realization settled on them all and punched them in their guts. Ivar had been driving Sigurd’s car tonight. He had been drunk and reckless like he always was and crashed the car. Sigurd had flown through the windshield. His injuries had been fatal. The doctor had said as much. He had told them that there had been nothing they could have done for Sigurd to save their brother’s life. Now Sigurd was dead and maybe Ivar would follow him.

**-End of Chapter 2-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, feedback is always very appreciated <3


	3. silence

The beeping of the monitors that were surrounding Ivar’s bed in the ICU was a constant reminder of the nightmare Bjorn Ragnarsson found himself in. His baby brother was lying in that bed in the unforgiving harsh white light of the neon tubes on the ceiling.

He looked so tiny, the way he was drowning in his blanket. There was a tube down his brother's throat that was connected to a machine that was breathing for him. His little brother was too weak to breathe on his own. The horror of that was striking him like being hit with a baseball bat straight to the fucking face. He could hardly look at Ivar caught in this jungle of cables and wires and whirring machines. Just to think that his brother was somewhere in there, buried under bandages and all this medical equipment. His neck was in a brace, his head wrapped in a thick bandage, his hair sticking out between the layers of gauze. His nose was broken and hidden beneath a big plaster. His right arm was in a thick cast and he was sure that there was much more hidden beneath his blanket. 

“Is he … going to be okay?” Ubbe’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and back to reality as he remembered the presence of his brothers and Ivar’s doctor as they were standing in front of Ivar’s room in the ICU.

“If he pulls through the next twenty-four hours,” The doctor, Dr. Svenson, said quietly. “he might be able to recover fully. He suffered a traumatic brain injury in the crash and we had to operate to reduce the resulting swelling of the brain.”

“When will he wake up?” Hvitserk asked. He looked pale in the bright lights of the hospital. His hair was still ruffled not only from being woken up in the middle of the night but from driving his fingers through his hair again and again all throughout the time that they had spent in the waiting area. By now, the sun was rising on the horizon, a new day had begun and people were going about their lives as if nothing had happened, as if Bjorn Ragnarsson’s world was not millimeters away from collapsing. 

“We sedated him.”

“You mean … you put him in an artificial coma?”

“In layman’s terms, yes. Your brother is still in a very critical condition. We will continue the sedation until it is safe to wake him up. His body needs now all the help it can get to heal itself.” And then he was rattling down a list of his brother’s injuries and Bjorn tried drowning out his voice. He couldn't possibly keep track of all of this. “I am not going to lie to you” The doctor then said. “His chances of survival are low. It is, in fact, a medical miracle that he is still alive right as we speak. Most people with such injuries like his don’t survive.”

“It's not impossible, though.” Ubbe suddenly said. There it was again, the infamous stubbornness of their family, the headstrong, desperate refusal of letting hope go. 

“No,” Doctor Svenson replied patiently. He was probably used to talking to people like Ubbe who were unwilling to accept the inevitable yet. “It is not. However, the nature of his injuries has it that, even if he does survive and recover, your brother will probably never walk again.”

“Is he … paralyzed?” Ubbe breathed out in horror.

“His spinal cord was injured and he suffered quite a few broken vertebrae in his lower back. The nerves did not get severed completely but it is unlikely that he will be able to use his legs in the future. How pronounced the consequences of this injury are can only be established when he wakes up and can be put through further testing.”

“Can we … stay?” Hvitserk mumbled quietly. “With him?”

“Only one at a time,” Svenson said. “If you want, I can talk to the nurses and ask for a cot to be put in the room. Ivar is sixteen?” Bjorn nodded numbly. “It's quite common that parents or guardians want to stay with a minor in cases like this. And we think that it benefits recovery as well in some cases.”

“I’m gonna take the first shift,” Bjorn said right away without even wasting a second thought about it.

“What about … the company?” Hvitserk replied with concern on his face. The company, yes. That was indeed a problem. His uncle needed him there. They had this deal with Japan going on and Uncle Rollo needed his right-hand man for the negotiations. Bjorn hadn’t worked his ass off learning Japanese for nothing, after all. 

“I’ll call Uncle Rollo. He’ll understand … We … We have to call … everyone...”

“I’ll do it,” Ubbe said and patted his shoulder. “Don't worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.” With that, Ivar’s doctor left the group of young men. The group of brothers that had to bury one brother and sit at another’s bedside, praying and hoping that they wouldn't have to bury this one too. 

“You think he’s gonna pull through?” Hvitserk finally asked quietly as they stood there in the middle of the hallway and watched their baby brother through the window to his room.

“Of course,” He didn't even know where those words were coming from. “He’s Ivar. He’s strong, right? He … When he was born nobody thought that he would make it. Even Dad was sure Ivar had no chance of surviving. He spent weeks in his office, ignoring Ivar and Aslaug and us because he couldn't deal with it. He told me about it a few years ago - how he was afraid every time his phone rang that it was Aslaug who would tell him that Ivar had died. Every little hiccup, every sneeze, every cough made him paralyzed with fear. But Ivar was strong. He won’t die.”

※※※※※※※

He was looking at coffins. Coffins. Ubbe Ragnarsson was sitting in a funeral home, staring at a catalog of coffins while a very nice lady smiled at him politely. “Take your time,” She said for the umpteenth time. “I know stuff like this isn’t easy. I buried my mother last year - spent days and days on every little decision. I wanted to give her the perfect funeral. Tell me something about the departed. Maybe this way we can find something just right for him.”

“He was my brother,” Ubbe said quietly as if that would already explain everything. Something ‘just right’ for Sigurd. _Pah_. Sigurd didn't deserve to be in a coffin, in the first place. He was still a baby. He didn't deserve to be rotting in the ground. “He is- _was_ seventeen. He … loved music. He played the guitar and the violin, even the piano. He wanted to become a famous musician. He loved entertaining people. He would have gone to America in a couple of months. He got accepted at the Juilliard School. That has always been his biggest dream.” 

The woman smiled at him fondly and encouragingly. And just like this, two hours went by in which Ubbe was talking about his baby brother, about what kind of person Sigurd had been and how he died, about the things he had liked and hated, choosing details for the wake and the funeral without realizing that he was doing it. When he left the funeral home, he felt completely drained, like he could sleep for days. He hadn't slept since the call came last night. He hadn't even talked to Margrethe since then. The sun was sinking on the horizon and Margrethe would be pissed at him. He was supposed to pick her up and have dinner with her and her parents in two hours. Her parents were eagerly awaiting him to pop the big question. After all, he was wealthy and thus a good catch for their snobbish daughter. He harbored no illusions about the fact that this was the only appeal he had to Margrethe as well. 

He should give her a call, he realized briefly as he took out his phone and saw the 20 missed calls from his girlfriend blinking angrily back at him. He had put it on silent earlier today after he had spent all morning making phone calls. He had called everyone in their family to deliver the news and after he had gone through that ordeal he couldn't stand the thought of answering a call from one of them and listening to more tear-filled condolences and well-wishes for Ivar. He had thought about switching it off but he didn't want to risk missing a call from Bjorn about Ivar. Ivar, who was still in the ICU, hooked up to machines.

The air was cold as the streets were getting darker. Ubbe wandered back to his car, got in, and just sat there for a moment. He had spent his entire day making phone calls, going to the funeral home, dealing with the details, organizing everything for his brother’s funeral, and not once had he stopped since they had gotten the news to really let it all sink in. He had not once just sat down and focused on what he was feeling because he had been too afraid that he wouldn't be able to get back up otherwise. He had been afraid that he could be of no help to Bjorn if he would allow his feelings to truly wash over him. Right now, he needed to be strong for Bjorn and Hvitserk, for Sigurd and for Ivar. He couldn't allow himself to break down even if he desperately wanted to. But, right now, sitting in his car, he allowed his head to fall forward against the steering wheel and the tears to flow freely. Before he knew it, his body was wracked with sobs as he sat there, hugging his steering wheel and trying to make sense of everything.

Just yesterday, he and Sigurd had jested and teamed up against Hvitserk and Ivar during a game of ping-pong in their father’s old game room in the basement. Just yesterday, he had thrown popcorn into Ivar’s hair as his brother had tried to doll himself up for the party just to annoy him. Just yesterday, life had been normal and good. He had been the second oldest of five brothers and now one of them was dead and the other one was very likely to follow him. Bjorn might be the oldest one but, in a way, he hadn't been responsible for the other three boys for the longest time. Ubbe, as his mother’s first child, had been responsible for his younger brothers. She had once told him that it was _his_ job to watch out for them and protect them. He had failed her. He had broken that promise. 

All he wanted to do was get ridiculously drunk and hide in some deep dark hole. Instead, he leaned back, roughly wiped his face dry, started the engine, and pulled out of his parking spot across from the funeral home to head back to the hospital.

※※※※※※※

Torvi had come to the hospital after she had dropped their children off at school. Thank the Gods for Torvi. Asa, his baby girl, had just started school a couple of months ago. He still couldn't believe it. Just yesterday, she had been in his arms while he sang her a lullaby and now she was going to school. Just yesterday, she had been his little baby. Seeing Torvi at the hospital had been a welcome reprise from everything. Seeing her face had made it all a little more bearable for Bjorn, even though he still couldn’t quite comprehend it all. He was glad that he still had Torvi in his life after their divorce, that much he could say for certain. The moment he had seen her, he had broken down in tears and she had held him in her arms and patted his back with her delicate hands as if he was nothing but a child himself. 

Torvi had seen his brothers grow up. It had been for her like it was for him to hear the news - as if she had lost a brother. She had stayed with him for a bit, just outside Ivar’s room, drinking coffee, watching over Ivar through the glass window next to the door, exchanging stories that she remembered about Sigurd and Ivar when they were little. When she had left it was like she was leaving a hole in his heart. Suddenly, whenever he would watch someone leave, fear filled his heart. What if he would never see Torvi again?

Just yesterday, it seemed impossible that he would never see Sigurd again. Just yesterday, Ivar had been so full of life, a cocky, self-assured bastard and now he was still and helpless. Around noon, Hvitserk had come back to the hospital to take over from Bjorn. He had gone home earlier in the day at Bjorn’s command to catch some rest and take a shower. However, Bjorn could clearly tell that Hvitserk had done neither of that. His blonde hair was messy and could use a wash, he was still wearing the same clothes as last night and they were now even more rumpled. Hvitserk had started wearing his hair like Bjorn a couple of months ago, the sides faded and the top long with a loose bun in the back. Ivar had mocked them both for it and called them hipsters - before he too started to let his hair grow out. 

They had needed to shave a lot of his hair off for the operation on his head. He would be pissed when he would wake up and see that. Ivar had always been very fussy when it came to his hair. _If_ he would wake up. He stayed with his brother for a bit, just talking, before Bjorn left the hospital and drove home. The house was much too silent as he walked in through the door. Usually, when he would come home there would always be some sort of ruckus going on - mainly Sigurd and Ivar arguing about petty stuff that only siblings could argue about. They had always been like this up to the point where people thought that Sigurd and Ivar actually hated each other. Maybe there had been a bit of resentment there between them too but it had never been serious. Now he would give everything to hear them yell at each other about not being allowed in the other’s room or their music being too loud or whatever else they would be arguing about. 

He knew, of course, that Sigurd had resented his mother for always taking Ivar’s side and doting on her youngest son. After having children of his own, however, Bjorn could understand Aslaug a little better. Ivar had been her little miracle and she had held him close, her baby. Her last baby. After Ivar, she had no longer been able to have children because of the complications during his birth. 

He went upstairs to his bedroom, took a shower, and changed his clothes. Sleep was something he couldn't even think about right now. Instead, he walked the corridors of the house. Without his brothers here it was way too big. He hadn't realized how big it really was until now. This house had always seemed so small when his brothers were home. Not even after his father’s death, he had felt this way. He paused as he caught a glimpse of an old photo hanging on the wall. He was walking past it almost every day and yet he rarely looked at it. It showed him, his father, his mother, and his late sister Gyda in front of their old, unassuming, little house on the outskirts of Kattegat. That was long before his father’s business had taken off, before the company, before the big house, before Aslaug, before his baby brothers. They had been happy, back then - the four of them. Sometimes, he thought, the marriage of his parents had fallen apart long before Aslaug. He barely remembered his big sister anymore. She had been two years older than him and died when she was just five years old from an illness. A part of him had always thought that Gyda’s death had been the beginning of the end for their family. After that, his father had stayed away from their house more often and for longer periods of time with his company starting to become a success. 

For a while, after Aslaug had arrived and Bjorn and his mother moved out and left Kattegat, he had resented his father. It had taken him a long time and having children of his own to realize that the reason behind his father staying away from them was the pain he had been in after Gyda’s death. 

Now, after Sigurd, he could understand it even better. He was seventeen years older than Sigurd. He and Ivar had been like his own babies. He had just returned to Kattegat when Sigurd had been born and so he had seen those two grow up from the start. He remembered them hanging off his biceps after they had caught their big brother in his father’s home gym and demanded a lift. He had carried them around the house like this, under the roaring laughter of their father and their brothers - until Aslaug had seen it and taken Ivar from him in fear her precious baby might hurt himself. Ivar had been three years old and Sigurd four. 

Now that he stared at the photo, he felt the weight of the years that had passed since Gyda’s death and he felt the longing for the days when his baby brothers had still been babies riding on his back through the house as if he was a donkey. Ivar had never been shy in demanding him to go faster.

“You would have loved them” He murmured as he looked at the face of his dead sister. Maybe Sigurd was with her now. He really hoped this was true. “You would have spoiled them even more than their mom - especially Ivar. He would have wrapped you around his finger and you would have still somehow managed to make him listen to you.”

Yes, Gyda would have known how to handle Ivar - maybe even better than Aslaug. No. She definitely would have handled him better than her because Aslaug had always given him what he wanted, spoiling him and turning him into a brat. He loved Ivar dearly. He loved his wit, his dry humor, his sarcasm, his quick mind, his childishness, his sharp tongue, and his stubbornness - but he was still a brat. _His_ brat. His brat who might be dying just as he was standing here staring at this photo.

 _No_ , Bjorn decided bitterly, he couldn't stay home. He couldn't stand being alone in this big house with nothing but ghosts and regrets to keep him company. And there was so much he regretted in his life. He regretted that he hadn't been a better son to his father, that he hadn't been a better husband to Torvi, that he hadn't been a better brother to Sigurd and Ivar, that he hadn't been a better father for his babies and for Guthrum. When he had met Torvi and fell in love with her, she had just had her baby boy and Bjorn had promised them the world - only to break his promise just like his father had broken his promises to his mother and Bjorn so many years ago. 

He turned around sharply on his heels and walked back down the corridor the way he came from only to stop at Ivar’s open door. He couldn't help but risk a peek inside. His brother’s room was just as messy as he had left it behind on Friday night. He was only sixteen years old and had not yet learned the benefits of being tidy. One day, Bjorn was sure of that, he would get there. Ivar was not like Ubbe who loved his chaos. Ivar would learn to love order and being tidy - if he would survive. He wanted to close the door when something else caught his eye. 

From the door, he could see Ivar’s bed pushed into the corner next to the window that was overlooking the garden. His bed was, of course, unmade but that was not what surprised him to see. In the corner, right next to Ivar’s ruffled pillow mountain was the very familiar plush version of a white seal watching over everything that was going on in the room - a silent guardian over Ivar’s earthly possessions. Bjorn still remembered the day he had bought this thing for Ivar. He had gone to the shops with Ubbe because Ubbe had been desperate to buy his new baby brother a gift - despite having no money of his own. In the end, Ubbe had begged him to buy this seal plushie for Ivar. How could he have said no to this?

Bjorn walked into the room, stepped over a discarded pair of boxer shorts on the ground, threw a glare at a lost sock on Ivar’s desk, and approached Ivar’s bed. It was a quick decision to walk into Ivar’s inner sanctum to grab the seal from his bed. He couldn't do much for Ivar but he could at least bring him his trusty companion. Just knowing that Ivar still had this thing in his bed brought a smile to his face. And, later when he arrived back at the hospital, he was glad to see that it brought a smile to Hvitserk’s face as well.

“Ivar always acts so tough and mighty,” Hvitserk huffed as he gingerly placed the plush underneath Ivar’s good arm to keep him company. “But he’s still sleeping with his seal. I’m surprised that Sigurd never used that as ammunition, to be honest. If I had known about that, I would have definitely taken the piss.”

“Listen,” Bjorn sighed from the doorway. “I’d much rather have him sleep with Edgar the seal than with random girls. Let him stay a kid for as long as he wants. He will have to grow up into a man soon enough.”

He could see by the way Hvitserk’s smile dropped a little what he was thinking. Neither one of them said anything, though. They couldn't lose hope right now. Not as long as Ivar was fighting with death. And fighting he surely was. Ivar wouldn't go down without a fight. He had proven that all his life. He would fight with claws and teeth.

“Remember when we were little,” Hvitserk spoke up again, his eyes lingering on their brother. “Ivar always used to break bones.”

“Yeah,” Bjorn rolled his eyes. “I remember. That was why your mom hated it when I would carry him around the way he liked it, or when you guys were roughhousing with him. She was afraid that he might have brittle-bone disease.”

“Well, she was right with that,” Hvitserk huffed with a lopsided little grin. Hvitserk’s relationship with Aslaug had been strained at best. In fact, Bjorn would go as far as to say that only Ubbe had had a semi-good relationship with her, apart from Ivar. Aslaug’s death had hit those two boys the hardest but Hvitserk and Sigurd had not wasted a tear about that woman. It was no secret that Aslaug had neglected all three of them after Ivar’s birth. Ubbe hadn't seemed to take it as badly as his younger brothers, though. He had quickly adapted to his new role and to the newfound freedom that Aslaug’s neglect brought with it but Hvitserk and Sigurd had grown outright resentful towards her. “As always. Somehow, Mom always knew what would happen. Not that this would have stopped _Ivar the Boneless_ , right?”

“Of course not,” Bjorn remembered the day that they got the diagnosis. Ivar had been six years old. They were lucky that it was only Type I, the mildest type. Still, Ivar had suffered a lot because of it during his childhood - never been able to play with other kids the way he wanted to, always being isolated by his own mother who smothered him with her love and affection as if he was the only thing of worth to her in this life. It had caused a rift between Ivar and his three brothers. A rift that had only started to heal after Aslaug’s death, really. It was no surprise that Sigurd had held a grudge against Ivar for such a long time.

"Sigurd hated him."

"No … no he didn't hate him. He was a child and he was jealous. That's all.” Bjorn slowly walked over to the row of yellow plastic chairs opposite of Ivar’s room and sat down heavily. “I remember one time … you and Ubbe were on a camping trip with the boy scouts and Sigurd got so pissed with Ivar that he pushed him over in the garden. And Ivar … he fell over a tree stump, broke his leg and hit his head real bad. Sigurd was in hysterics because he thought he had killed his brother. He didn't leave Ivar’s side in the hospital until they got home."

"I didn't know that," Hvitserk admitted quietly but remained near Ivar’s door.

“I think their relationship was a lot more complicated than they let on. They had their disagreements and Sigurd might have resented him for a while because of the way Aslaug doted on him and seemed to forget completely about Sigurd. Just as well as Ivar resented him for being given so much more leeway with everything and being so much freer than he ever was with Aslaug around but, in the end, they loved each other dearly.”

“She was not a very good mother, was she? Aslaug.”

“No.” Bjorn sighed. “I think she tried her best but … she was not really the motherly type, I guess. Don't get me wrong, I think that she loved you guys with all her heart but I also think that she had children to ensure her place in Ragnar’s life, first and foremost. She gave him what my mother couldn't give him and that was intoxicating to our dear father who always dreamed of having many sons.”

“Do you think they were ever in love?”

Bjorn hesitated for a second. Those were the questions of a child and Bjorn was aware of that. Hvitserk was a man but he was still very young, still a child in many ways. Yet, he deserved the truth, for what it was worth. And really what would it matter now anyway? Ragnar and Aslaug were both dead, after all. The relationship of their parents had nothing to do with them, right? It was hard to understand that growing up, though. Children would always find a way to blame themselves if the relationship between their parents would fall apart. Bjorn knew that he had blamed himself even though Aslaug had literally waltzed into their home carrying Ubbe under her heart. Still, for the longest time, he had felt like it was his fault for not being a better son.

“No, I don't think so.” Bjorn sighed at last. “Maybe that's … that's the petty wish of a boy that saw his parents split up because of another woman but I think that my father never stopped loving my mother. I know for a fact that my mother still loves him. She just couldn't stand the betrayal and the cheating and Aslaug as a presence in her life. And our father was never good at saying no to a woman. When my mother left him, I think he married Aslaug to do the right thing in the public eye and to keep his new son in his life.”

“It's all a mess, isn't it?” Hvitserk muttered. “I mean how can we be expected to find love out there and start a proper family if we never really learned what this should be like? Even _you_ got divorced, you donkey! You had it all! The perfect wife, kids, and still you blew your chance!”

Bjorn just breathed out a laugh at that - even though Hvitserk’s words stung more than Bjorn liked to admit. Well, the truth always had the ugly habit to hurt more than any lie ever could. “You have more than enough time to figure all of that out, Hvitserk.”

Even though it might not seem like it right now, Bjorn thought bitterly. With one younger brother dead and the other one at death’s door, it seemed like, suddenly, all of them started to realize their own mortality. All of them seemed suddenly only one wrong move away from death. Their lives had seemed endless. They were young men in their prime, after all. And suddenly time seemed to run through his fingers like sand. He felt caught in an hourglass.

Ubbe returned to them in the late afternoon and he didn't seem surprised to find Bjorn there with Hvitserk. They ate crappy hospital food in the cafeteria just to have something in their stomachs, neither of them willing to leave Ivar for too long. The only reason why they went to the cafeteria in the first place was so that the doctors could check in on their brother and change his bandages - to give Ivar some space and privacy, so to say. None of them really wanted to see what was beneath his blanket. None of them wanted to see how his colostomy or his urine bag were exchanged. None of them wanted to see how the nurses would wash him. None of that. As long as they could avoid seeing all this stuff, they could pretend like Ivar was still in there, buried inside that broken body lying in that bed. They could pretend that he was just sleeping. 

During their awful hospital dinner, Ubbe told them about his day in rather broad strokes and Bjorn was thankful that he kept most of the details to himself, especially the ones concerning the funeral for their dead brother. He knew that he should be the one taking care of all of this. He had been Sigurd’s parental guardian, after all. Aslaug and his father had decided to leave their children in Bjorn’s hands if they would die an untimely death. He should go and organize everything. He had already let Sigurd down so much, at least that he could do for him. However, he felt like Ubbe was all but clinging to this task. It gave him something to do, something to focus his mind on and he didn't want to take that away from him either. 

After dinner, Bjorn took Hvitserk home. They needed sleep even though he doubted that one of them would actually be able to catch some Zs. Ubbe had offered to take over for the night, watching his little brother, sleeping on that uncomfortable cot. As they returned home, the light of the answering machine was blinking but neither one of them really felt up to the task of listening to the messages on it. Probably friends and relatives leaving their wishes for Ivar and their condolences for Sigurd. They could deal with that tomorrow.

As he later lay in his bed, he just stared at the ceiling. The light of the moon was filtering in through the curtains in front of his window and he listened to the sounds of the house as it was turning over in its sleep. The house was too silent. It felt different - lying in his bed and knowing that something wasn’t as it was supposed to be, that one of his siblings would never return home … that it was his fault. His fault. 

After tossing and turning for about an hour, Bjorn got out of bed and walked out of the room. He saw light coming out of Sigurd’s bedroom. Fueled by the childish hope of finding his dead brother alive and well, he walked over to the door but he only found Hvitserk sitting on Sigurd’s bed with that same lost expression on his face that he had seen on him all throughout the day. He was holding onto Sigurd’s guitar as if it would ground him in a way. Bjorn remembered how Sigurd had begged Ragnar to buy him this guitar when he was barely ten years old. Their father had made a fuss about it, told Sigurd that a real man wouldn't care for playing an instrument, and then bought it anyway with that same, playful twinkle in his eyes that he had always had carried with him.

“I guess you can’t sleep either, huh?” Bjorn alerted Hvitserk of his presence. Maybe he had already heard him coming because he didn't jump at the sound of his voice in the slightest. 

“No,” Hvitserk sighed. “It's all so surreal and … my brain won’t shut up about it … About the things I still wanted to tell Sigurd, you know? About the stuff that we wanted to do. I promised Sigurd that we would go on vacation in Iceland when he would turn eighteen. And now none of those things will happen and I feel like I’ve let him down. We should have just done it and not wait for it. Life is too short for making plans.”

“Yeah,” Bjorn muttered as he walked over and sat down next to Hivtserk. The bed creaked under the added weight and for a moment they just sat there in silence, letting it all sink in.

**-End of Chapter 3-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think. Feedback means the world to me and keeps me going <3


	4. funeral

The hospital was eerie at night. Most lights were off except for the emergency lights and the lamp at the nurses’ station in the center of the unit. It was quiet up here on the fifth floor in the middle of the night. Most of the patients in the rooms around Ivar’s were in similar bad conditions. There was only the occasional exchange of whispered words out in the hallway, the quiet beeping of machines, the whirring of the ventilator to fill the void of utter silence. 

In Ivar’s room, only one light remained on but it wouldn't be bright enough to keep Ubbe from sleeping under normal circumstances. These, however, weren’t normal circumstances. The cot was uncomfortable but not uncomfortable enough to forgo sleep - usually. In fact, Ubbe would go as far as to pride himself on the fact that he could fall asleep anywhere and under any circumstances. Right now, however, he could only lie there and look at Ivar, listen to the ventilator, and the silent rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. The beeping of the machine brought comfort, in a way. It meant his baby brother was still alive. The same baby brother whom Ubbe had let walk on his feet when Ivar first started walking. He remembered it vividly. He had held those little hands with his own, felt Ivar’s weight on his feet as they had made careful steps together. Ivar had squealed with laughter.

Ubbe had been there when he had taken his first steps and said his first words and now he couldn’t do anything for him. He could only lie here and hold Ivar’s hand even if that meant his own arm was falling asleep constantly. It was a small comfort. It reminded him of how Ivar had sometimes crept into his room and slept in his bed when he couldn't sleep or had had a nightmare. He remembered Ivar lying in his arms, safe and sound until he had grown too old and big for this kind of stuff. He had missed it when it happened even though he had grunted and groaned whenever Ivar and snuck into his bed at night.

“You are a pain in the ass, little brother,” He muttered quietly, hoping, deep down, that Ivar might be able to hear him. “But you are _my_ pain in the ass and I will not allow you to die. Do you hear me? I kill you if you die.”

He half expected his brother to shoot up in bed, rip that tube out of his own throat and make fun of him for ‘being a girl’ about the situation at hand. He actually hoped that his brother would shoot up in bed - but he didn't. Because Ivar never did what people wanted him to do and he certainly never did what people expected him to do. The realization that Ivar had been driving the car and caused the crash was still floating around in his head hours later. It was like being told to not imagine a pink elephant and then being incapable of thinking of anything _but_ a pink elephant. The words of the police officer in the early hours of the last morning had had the same effect on Ubbe. They were all he could think about right now. Ivar had driven the car. Ivar had been drunk. Ivar had crashed the car. Sigurd was dead.

However, on the same token that it was impossible to not think about the fact that Ivar had caused the crash, it was impossible for Ubbe to not remember the times his little brother had cried in agony when he was little. Ivar had always been in pain when he was a small child. His wallowing had driven his older brothers up the walls and his father to take one business trip after the other. It was his illness that had caused the pain and the only relief seemed to have been their mother's loving embrace. He hoped, maybe in vain, that his little brother was not in pain right now - even though there was a part of him that resented Ivar and was furious with him for what he did.

Yet, as much as he hated Ivar right now, as much did he love him. He wouldn't be able to move on from losing him too. His little monster. 

Sigurd used to call him gremlin because of the tantrums that Ivar would throw whenever he wouldn't get what he wanted or how he would bite at their ankles, tried to catch them, and trip them in a petty attempt to get his big brothers down to his own level. Deep down, Ubbe knew that Ivar’s short fuse and his hot temper was the result of their mother’s smothering love, of growing up frustrated with his own inadequate body and the wish to do things he just couldn't do while witnessing his brothers go through life without the same short-comings. Hvitserk always said that he was too soft on Ivar. The truth was that Ubbe was just as frustrated, just as annoyed as his brothers were with their little gremlin. But everyday Ubbe forced sympathy at the forefront of his mind. Sympathy.

Ubbe fell asleep at one point, miraculously. His sleep was restless and fitful though - until he got shaken awake by loud noises and an alarm going off right beside his head. He jolted upright immediately and tried to make sense of what was going on. His first thought was that he had to get up to go to work and tried finding his alarm clock only to realize that the sound was not the shrill beeping of the clock radio beside his bed. Suddenly, Ubbe was wide awake as nurses and doctors began swarming in through the door and flooding the room with bright light. He was at the hospital, he remembered like a stab of a dagger right between his ribs. The machines around Ivar’s bed were going berserk and his baby brother was seizing on his bed as if electricity was surging through his veins. 

“What's going on?” He slurred as he scrambled to get up and away from Ivar’s bed but his question was met only with one of the nurses shoving him gently out of the room, telling him to get out while they were taking care of his baby brother. Confused and horrified, Ubbe stumbled into the hallway and almost collided with the wall opposite of Ivar’s room, away from his brother as he was, apparently, just in the way. He couldn't help. He was just standing there - uselessly, watching through the window what was happening to his brother before another nurse pulled the blinds down to shut him out. It was meant as mercy but Ubbe only felt a stone falling into the pit of his stomach heavy as a boulder. They didn't want him to see what was happening. They didn't want him to see because his brother was in agony, because his brother might be dying.

His heart was racing as he stood there, listening to the sounds inside the room, the frantic orders that were being barked, then the sound of the heart monitor flatlining, then the unmistakable sound of someone pressing down on his brother’s chest again and again rhythmically. In his head, it sounded like war drums. They were doing CPR. They had to do CPR on his baby brother. He felt like he was about to pass out right then and there. His legs felt numb and weak and as if they would give in under his weight any second now. He had to sit down. He could not stand there and listen and wait for the inevitable. Without thinking, Ubbe walked over to a row of yellow plastic chairs right next to a fire extinguisher mounted at the wall and sat down heavily on the one furthest away from Ivar’s room. He felt like the biggest coward in history as he sat there and buried his face in his hands before clamping his hands over his ears to drown out the sounds from inside Ivar’s room. He should be in there, helping Ivar - being there for him.

Instead, he was sitting outside like a baby, afraid, panicked, and helpless.

Suddenly and without warning, he was back to the day on which he had helped Ivar get ready for his very first date. He had no idea why it was this memory that hit him like a ton of bricks but it appeared out of nowhere and was everything he could think about right now. It had been just earlier this year. Ivar had told him about that girl he liked at school, Freydis, and how he asked her to go out with him to the movies. It had taken all his courage to actually ask that girl out. Ubbe remembered Sigurd poking fun at Ivar for it but Ubbe had been proud. He knew that his baby brother didn't have any friends and was not exactly popular with the ladies either despite his good looks. Bjorn had gladly shoved this responsibility on Ubbe and he would probably never quite forget the expression on Ivar’s face that night when he had gotten dressed and dolled up for his date, changing clothes a dozen times, fidgeting with his hair until it had been time to go. Being the good brother that he was, he had driven Ivar and his date. Fuck … He had never seen his baby brother so nervous. Ivar’s eyes had been big and round like saucers. He had looked like a child that was being sent off to fight in a war. He remembered feeling old witnessing all of that. The entire drive to the cinema, Ivar had been uncharacteristically quiet next to the girl, staring ahead as if he was walking into battle. It had been _cute_. 

And then he remembered how, as a child, he used to check Ivar’s eyes every morning just to make sure that the white in his eyes hadn’t turned too blue and just to make sure his baby brother wasn’t in any danger of breaking a bone. The fear of that happening had been at the forefront of his mind for the longest time. Right now, he thought, there were so many broken bones in his brother’s body. Maybe he should have checked him over before he went to that party. Ivar’s eyes had been very blue on the morning of his first date as well. He had broken his ankle after leaving the cinema with Freydis and getting into a small fight with another kid from his school who had shoved him. Ivar had not talked to or about Freydis ever again after that night. Ubbe still didn't know what this fight at the cinema had been about.

“Mr. Ragnarsson?” A voice pulled him out of his wandering thoughts as if the intern who addressed him had thrown him a life belt during a storm at sea to keep him from drowning in his own memories. He had planned on going on a little tour on his ship with Ivar next summer, sailing up and down the coast of Norway. Ivar was afraid of the deep sea because he didn't know if he would be able to keep afloat if he would get thrown into the sea. Yet, his brother’s face had split into a huge grin as Ubbe made the offer. He got up quickly and almost keeled over. He felt light-headed from all the stress and the sleep-deprivation. 

“Yeah?” He breathed out. There was no clock on the wall to tell him how much time might have passed since he had been thrown out of the room. It felt like hours. “Is he- How- What-” He couldn't even begin to formulate a question. Is he alive? How is he? What happened? He wanted to ask all of this and yet he was afraid to hear the answer. The intern, however, smiled in understanding and stepped closer.

“Your brother suffered a seizure and went into cardiac arrest,” She explained gently before leading him back to his previous seat and sitting down with him like he was a child. “We had to give him CPR and adrenaline to restart his heart. That can happen with people who are in such critical condition like your brother.”

“Is he … okay now?”

“Yes.” The intern smiled reassuringly. “His heart is beating normally again. Because of the seizure, we will have to keep an extra keen eye on his brain activity. If he has another seizure, that could result in a stroke and his chances of surviving a stroke are almost non-existent.”

Those were grim visions for the future but there was nothing Ubbe could do about that, nothing he could say to change any of that. He couldn't take that pain from his brother. He couldn't make it better. There was no band-aid with little dinosaurs he could put on Ivar’s wounds and make it all okay again. At least this woman was honest to him and didn't try to sugarcoat anything. “I understand” He muttered quietly. But did he really? None of it made any sense. “He has … Uhm … I don't know the clinical name … brittle bone disease, and he … he breaks bones easily … so … maybe he broke a few ribs … just now and he needs …”

The woman put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know,” She replied gently and squeezed his shoulder. “We take care of him, don't worry. He’s in safe hands. If you want to, you can go back in now.” 

Ubbe nodded as the woman got up and walked away. He stayed where he was for a little longer before he found the strength to get up and go back to the now open door. As he walked into the room he found Edgar the seal on the ground. He had probably fallen off during the commotion. Ivar, on the other hand, looked as if nothing had happened. He walked over to Edgar and picked him up to place him back in Ivar’s arm. Then he walked over to his cot and shoved it right next to Ivar’s bed. He couldn't possibly lie in his bed because of all the cables and wires and tubes but he could at least get closer. Maybe it would help Ivar if he was close by - if he could feel that his big brother was here. Maybe he had nightmares right now. Maybe he was afraid in this stubborn head of his. 

For a moment, he just sat on the edge of his cot and buried his head in his hands once more. Since Sigurd died, he felt like he was missing a limb and right now he felt like he was about to lose another.

※※※※※※※

It was snowing heavily again as the brothers watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. The accident had been three days ago and now that Sigurd was being buried, Hvitserk finally understood that this was reality now and that Sigurd wouldn't return home. The past three days, whenever he had not been at the hospital, he had waited for the door to open and for Sigurd to come back home, bitching about something Ivar had done at school and then to grab his stupid guitar and start playing for hours and hours on end. Now he finally realized that Sigurd would never come home bitching about Ivar again. The reality of this situation hit him like a two-by-four against the head and left him dizzy with pain. 

Now Sigurd was dead and buried, lying in the cold hard ground. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Sigurd was supposed to drive them up the wall with his chatter about going to America soon to study music. Hvitserk drifted through the funeral like he wasn’t really there. He watched himself talk to the other guests, to family and friends. He watched himself eat even though he didn't seem able to taste anything. Everything he ate tasted like cardboard. Looking at his brothers, Bjorn and Ubbe seemed to share his experience. Their faces looked like they were carved out of stone. Throughout the day, they sought each other's company more than they usually would when other people were around. And if they couldn't physically be together, they would search for each other's eyes in the crowd. Hvitserk had never felt this helpless, lost, and alone in his life. He had never felt like he needed his big brothers more. 

“How is Ivar doing?” Rollo, his uncle, addressed him quietly after Hvitserk had finally found a quiet place away from the crowd. Or so he thought. The moment Hvitserk had sought refuge on the formal staircase in the lobby of their lavish house, Rollo had appeared out of thin air, it seemed, summoned by his dark thoughts to sit down beside him in this house full of ghosts. 

“No changes,” Hvitserk sighed as he glanced at his uncle shortly. “He’s still sedated but … he’s alive. At least he’s alive.”

“Ubbe said he had a seizure a few days ago.” His uncle’s voice never quite betrayed his emotions, much like his father used to be. Uncle Rollo’s voice was deep and calm as if they were talking about the weather but regardless Hvitserk could tell that he was concerned and worried and saddened by the hole Sigurd had ripped into the fabric their family was woven out of. Nothing would ever be able to fill that hole.

“Yeah, in the middle of the night,” Hvitserk replied quietly. He remembered how shaken his brother Ubbe had been hours later. The selfish part of his brain was glad that he had not been at the hospital for that. “He almost died.”

“Ivar is strong.” Rollo tried to comfort him as he placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Everyone always said that he was the most like his uncle Rollo - that he was his favorite even. He didn't know what to say to that or what to think about that. He liked his uncle but he knew that, in his youth, Rollo had often budded heads with his brother and had often been regarded as the lesser of the two brothers despite being the older one. “I heard that … the police think Ivar drove the car.”

“Apparently he did.” Another sigh slipped out without his consent. They hadn’t talked about that to anyone but their uncle had his way of finding out things and what good would it do them to lie to Rollo anyway? “Which means he will be in big trouble when he gets out of the hospital - _if_ he gets out.”

“Don't worry about that,” Rollo said firmly then, forcing Hvitserk to glance up at his uncle’s face in confusion. There was this twinkle in his eyes that he knew from his father, a certain sense of darkness, of danger, lurking behind Rollo’s eyes. “I will take care of that.” Hvitserk knew enough about his family to not ask stupid questions. His father had once told him that one would never become successful in life if one would allow scruple to affect one’s decisions. He knew that this was true. He knew that both Rollo and his father had probably done a few questionable things to get where they were now. He wasn’t naive, contrary to popular belief. 

“Thank you,” He muttered. “Uncle Rollo. Really … Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Rollo replied. His hand slipped from Hvitserk’s shoulder onto his back where his uncle rubbed comforting circles through the fabric of the black suit jacket Hvitserk was forced to wear. “You boys are like my own sons. I will do everything in my power to help you. Ivar will have it bad enough when he wakes up. He will live with that burden and the consequences of his actions. That will be punishment enough.”

He was right again. Hvitserk knew that too. Even if Ivar would wake up again, what kind of life would he be facing? They still didn't know if Ivar would be paralyzed but even if he wouldn't be, he would never have a normal life again and he would forever live with the burden of having been driving drunk and without a license, with the burden of having killed his brother.

“Do you think he will be okay?”

“Eventually,” Rollo said. “And with the help of his brothers.”

“I love Ivar a lot, Uncle, but I don't know if I will ever be able to forgive him for what he’s done.”

“I have done a lot of horrible things to my own brother before Ragnar died-”

“But you didn't kill him,” Hvitserk shot back. “You weren't responsible for his death.”

“No, I wasn't. But Ivar … He was dumb that night. He was stupid and Sigurd was just as stupid for letting him drive the car. He will need his big brothers now more than ever, Hvitserk. His heart will be broken when he wakes up. He will go through hell and he will forever suffer from what happened that night, even after his body recovered. Be kind. That’s all I’m asking of you.”

“You’ve grown soft.”

“It comes with the age” Rollo huffed and patted his back before he left Hvitserk to his thoughts again. 

For a little while longer, Hvitserk stayed sitting on the staircase, listening to the dull hum of people in their large open-plan living room just a couple of meters away from where he was sitting. One might think that his uncle’s request to be kind to his little brother when Ivar would come home was simple enough but it wasn’t and Rollo knew this better than most people. It wasn’t easy to just be kind to Ivar. Not after what he had done, not after Ivar behaved in the past. Ivar had always been cocky, he had always gotten what he wanted because of their mother and now Ivar had ripped something away from all of them. Something that they had all loved dearly. How should he ever be able to look at Ivar with kindness and forgiveness ever again?

He wished his father would be here to guide him and tell him what to do, tell him what was right. Hvitserk had never been quite good at making decisions for himself.

When he finally got up and went back into the living room, it took him much more effort than he would like to admit. For a while, he stood with his back against a wall and watched the other guests in silence. Sigurd had always had a lot of friends and it seemed that they had all come. Hvitserk recognized a few faces. There were many young girls crying and boys with grim expressions talking in hushed voices near a photo of his dead brother. He watched Lagertha talking to Torvi in the corner of the living room, her hand a comforting force on Torvi’s hand. Guthrum was lingering about near the fireplace, apparently not quite sure what to do with himself. There were so many people here that had loved Sigurd and would miss him. 

It was a small comfort, knowing that his brother had been loved and cherished and would be missed, that he had impacted so many other lives and people. Floki and his wife Helga were standing near a window overlooking the snow-covered gardens where the brothers used to play. Floki had been his father’s best and oldest friend. He had suffered greatly when his father died and now he seemed gaunt and pale. He had already been visiting Ivar a couple of times. Ivar had always been his favorite and Floki had never made a secret out of it. He had spent a lot of time with Ivar while he grew up, taught him a couple of things too. He remembered the bed that Floki had once built for Ivar when his brother had been little. He had crafted it in the shape of a boat and Ivar had loved it so much that he had thrown a tantrum when he got too big for it. Then again, Ivar had always thrown tantrums. Hvitserk would go as far and say that no one understood Ivar as well as Floki did. They shared a very similar mind. Right now, both Floki and Helga seemed shattered by the loss of Sigurd, though. 

“Are you people watching?” The voice of his brother Ubbe startled him out of his musings. He hadn’t even heard him approach over the chatter of the other guests. It wasn’t really all that loud in the room but the hum of the voices and the clatter and clinking of porcelain seemed like the crashing of waves against a shoreline and swallowed up most other sounds. Everyone seemed to think it inappropriate to talk louder than in hushed whispers as if they would disturb Sigurd’s rest if they would speak normally. 

“I am surprised to see that Margrethe isn’t here,” Hvitserk replied instead of answering Ubbe’s question.

“She said funerals aren’t her thing,” Ubbe snorted but the sound seemed humorless and angry. Not the Ubbe he knew. Not the Ubbe he loved. Sigurd’s death had ripped a hole into all of them and that hole would leave a horrible scar.

“Did you finally break up with her?”

“Not yet.”

“Ubbe…”

“I know!” His brother huffed. Only briefly the thought occurred to Hvitserk that this was not the right moment to talk about Margrethe. 

He remembered meeting her for the first time when Ubbe had brought her over for a family dinner. For the first ten minutes, Hvitserk had been enthralled with her, envious of his brother for finding a girl like her. He had been silently amused to notice that both Ivar and Sigurd seemed to have shared his feelings in regard to Margrethe but it had taken all but thirty minutes until Ivar had spat the first insult at her and until Margrethe had started to show clear disdain towards Hvitserk. It wasn’t often the case that Hvitserk and Ivar agreed on virtually anything but when it came to Margrethe, they had both quickly come to the agreement that this girl was not good for their big brother Ubbe. Not that Ubbe had wanted to see reason back then. He remembered Sigurd being so infatuated with his brother’s girlfriend, however, that he had taken to defending Margrethe in front of Ivar and Hvitserk which had mostly ended in arguments and sometimes full-blown physical fights between Ivar and Sigurd. 

“I know, I know. It was just … I had other things on my plate. All things considered, she will probably break up with me soon enough.”

“No, she won't,” Hvitserk scoffed. “She wants your money.”

“True.”

“Ivar would laugh at you for being such a little bitch about it. Just call her and tell her it's over. Don't allow her to keep treating you like this,” Hvitserk sighed. “Life is too short to have toxic people like her in your life, brother.”

“Maybe I should just wait for Ivar to wake up and do it for me.”

“Yeah,” Hivtserk chuckled. “Do that.”

※※※※※※※

Two weeks had gone by in a blur. Bjorn had visited his brother Ivar every day at the hospital. They had kept the same routine for the past two weeks, spending time together at the hospital in the evenings, taking shifts being at Ivar’s side, sleeping in his room. It was a lot. It was wearing Bjorn down. He barely had time for his own children but Torvi was understanding and supportive of him, bringing over food at times and just talking to him. Whenever he was not at the hospital, he was afraid every time his phone would ring that he would finally get the news of Ivar’s death.

He had a few more minor seizures throughout the two weeks but, at last, they got the news that the doctors were planning on waking him up. The three brothers were startled by the news. In a way, Bjorn was glad to hear that but at the same time, he was afraid. Afraid that Ivar wouldn’t survive being woken up again, afraid that being off the meds would cause more harm to him. He was afraid of what would happen when he would wake up. Afraid that they would find out that he would never walk again. Afraid that he might have irreparable brain damage. Afraid that he would forever be in need of help. And he was afraid of the moment when his baby brother would learn the truth about everything. He was afraid of the moment his heart would break into a million pieces. 

Ivar might sometimes be a little shit, a pain in the ass. He was cocky and often boisterous, quick to start fights and he had a bad temper - even more so since Aslaug died - but he was still just a child and he had a heart that broke easily. Deep down, and only a hand full of people knew this, Ivar was very insecure and very fragile. He had to make up for that fragility with his aggression and anger. And Bjorn, well, he was afraid what new direction this aggression and anger would now take on.

“Is it safe?” Ubbe asked as they were standing outside Ivar’s room with his doctor. “I mean to … take him off the sedatives?”

“There is always a risk,” Svenson said calmly. “But his condition improved enough so that I am confident to make that call. He will still be on a lot of heavy painkillers, of course. But we need him awake to establish some of the neurological damage from the accident.”

“How long does it take until he wakes up?” Ubbe asked again while Hvitserk looked as if he was trying to blend into the wall. His brother was just as conflicted as both Bjorn and Ubbe about how to feel about Ivar only with the difference that Hvitserk had always had trouble forming a decision on his own. Hvitserk had always looked at Ubbe or Bjorn for guidance and, at the same time, as the middle child, Hvitserk had always been eager to keep the peace between the brothers. Right now, no one could take the decision of how he wanted to feel about Ivar from him.

“It can take anything between 12 to 24 hours after such a long time in an induced coma and being on the ventilator. During our last tests this morning we established that he is able to breathe on his own again, so the next step is to take out the tube and then stop the sedatives. The tests we ran on him showed that he should be stable enough to wake up on his own by tomorrow morning. Maybe even during the night. So, whoever is staying with him tonight should be prepared. He will be confused, agitated, and most likely scared.”

“I’m staying tonight.” Bjorn raised his hand. He noticed the relieved look on Ubbe’s face. He knew that, on one hand, Ubbe really wanted to be here for his baby brother but, on the other hand, he was relieved that Bjorn was taking over. Either way, Bjorn wouldn't have taken no for an answer. He was Ivar’s legal guardian. It was his job. His father and stepmother had left Ivar in _his_ care. He had failed him too much already. He was not going to fail him further now. Still, it was hard for him to look at Ivar these days and not see that tiny little newborn baby that he had held for hours right after he had been born. Ivar was almost like his own child. He knew that Floki felt the same way, which was why the poor bastard had such a hard time seeing Ivar like this.

This night, as Bjorn laid down on the cot next to Ivar’s bed, he felt a bit more nervous again, afraid that he might not notice it when Ivar would wake up. Nothing happened that night, though. When Bjorn woke up the next morning, his baby brother was still just lying there, sleeping. It was a relief, though, that the ventilator was shut off and the tube removed now. He looked more like everything was okay. As he had to leave in the morning after Hvitserk came by to take over, he didn't want to go but Hvitserk promised that he would call immediately if Ivar would wake up. His phone stayed silent for the rest of the day. As he returned to the hospital that night to take over from Ubbe, there had been no change, no sign of Ivar waking up and the brothers slowly started to get more and more nervous about that while his doctor remained calm and reassuring.

As the second night of waiting for Ivar to wake up fell, Bjorn found himself sitting on the cot right next to Ivar, staring at his sleeping brother. By now, two weeks into this, he could almost no longer imagine him waking up. After all the shit that they had been through since all of this started, it was like he was slowly losing hope that there could be some light at the end of this tunnel. It seemed ages ago that he had last heard Ivar’s voice. At the same time, Bjorn knew all too well that the real challenge was yet to come. 

There was a silent agreement in their family to not talk about the fact that Rollo had paid off some people to stop the investigation against Ivar. Bjorn, for his part, didn't know how to feel about that. It was a blessing to know that his little brother would not have to face any legal consequences now. He would already have it bad enough - that was what Rollo said, at least. But, in a way, Bjorn felt like he should be facing the consequences for his actions. For him, there was no way of going against his uncle, though. Not if he wanted to keep his job and position in his father’s company and have a very public falling out with his uncle. Whether they liked it or not, his father’s success had earned all of them a spot in the public eye. He was just relieved that the newspapers had not gotten wind of who had actually been driving the car. It had been declared a tragic accident after Sigurd had lost control on the icy road. At least that way Sigurd’s reputation had not been soured after his death. 

The rather idealistic part of his mind, the part of his mind that had been influenced by his mother and her steadfast belief in doing the right thing and being truthful no matter how uncomfortable the outcome would be, wanted justice to be served, wanted the police to investigate and Ivar to be trialed. The other part of him, the part that had been influenced by Ragnar, a man focused on success, knew that it would deliver a huge blow to their business and their entire family’s reputation. Ragnar would have done the same thing as Rollo. He was sure of that. He would have paid everyone involved off and then dealt with Ivar in the privacy of his own home.

What this should look like, though, was beyond him. What would his father have done with Ivar? What should he do with Ivar? Was there anything he should do or was his brother facing punishment enough already? He couldn't make that choice. His father would be disappointed, surely. What kind of leader was Bjorn if he couldn't decide on how to deal with his brother’s latest indiscretion? But this latest indiscretion had cost Sigurd his life and would maybe leave Ivar crippled for the rest of his life. There were so many problems they had still to face and so many problems they were probably not yet aware of either. He felt like he was standing in front of a mountain so high that he could not see its summit. 

His father would reprimand him for being such a Negative Nancy. Usually, that was not Bjorn’s way of thinking. He had never really been a pessimist, after all. Right now it just seemed impossible that everything would turn back to normal. How could it? Sigurd was dead, after all. Sigurd was dead and Ivar would blame himself for this. He knew that Hvitserk, in a way, blamed Ivar for it already. Bjorn, however, knew that _he_ was the one to blame. He was their guardian, after all. It had been his job to make sure that they would come home safely. He had been too busy with his own shit, with work, with his kids, with everything else he had going on lately. He didn't pay much attention to his two youngest brothers lately. He knew that Ivar would have needed him a bit more after Aslaug’s death. But Bjorn had rather escaped into his work at his father’s company. It hadn't been easy for him after his father had died and after his divorce from Torvi. It hadn't been easy for him to be put in charge of two teenagers all of a sudden and since his stepson was almost the same age as Ivar, he found the line between being Ivar’s brother and being Ivar’s father blurry at times. 

After a while, Bjorn finally laid himself down again on the cot. He reached out and grabbed Ivar’s hand like he had the last nights he had spent by his side as well. As he slowly drifted into slumber, he fell asleep feeling a little more confident that Ivar wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night.

When he woke up, first he wasn’t sure what it was that had woken him. His first thought was that it was morning already and that Hvitserk or Ubbe had come to take over for him so that he could go to work but as he opened his eyes, he realized that the world outside the window was still pitch-black. Outside, the hallways too were still bathed in the dim glow of the emergency lights. He could see a nurse at the nurses’ station leave through a file before turning to a cabinet behind her. Confused, he looked around the room, trying to make sense of why he had woken up in the first place. The alarm clock next to Ivar’s bed read 03:00 AM. It was way too early to be waking up for no reason. Then, however, a soft moan caught his attention, movement, on the bed next to him. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was switching on the small lamp next to Ivar’s bed and got up from the cot to sit down gingerly on the edge of Ivar’s bed instead. His brother’s hands were twitching and Bjorn quickly took Ivar’s good hand into his giant paws again. Ivar’s brows furrowed and his lips curled in pain before he slowly, slowly opened his eyes. At first, it was just a flutter but then he opened them. Confused and dazed, he stared at Bjorn and, not for the first time, Bjorn wondered what Ivar might be thinking right now. It seemed to take Ivar a long time to realize that something was wrong and when he finally did, Bjorn noticed his breathing quickening and his heart rate going up. Quickly, Bjorn leaned over to push the call button for the nurse before he cupped Ivar’s face with both of his hands.

“Hey … stay calm.” He mumbled softly. “Everything is okay. I’m here, okay? You are safe. I’ve got you, little brother.”

“I-” Ivar’s voice sounded hoarse and raspy. His throat had to feel like sandpaper. He saw his eyes fill with unshed tears all at once, saw how his lips started to tremble, as realization dawn, saw panic rising - all within one second, it seemed. “Where is Sigurd?”

**-End of Chapter 4-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think <3 Feedback means a lot and keeps me going <3


	5. Kattegat

“You are hovering,” Ivar grunted. His words were still a bit slurred and he still seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open but at least they _were_ open, at least he was talking. Ubbe let out a startled laugh at that and it didn't escape him that one of the nurses smirked at Ivar’s words. “You are such a mother hen…”

Gently, he smacked the side of his brother’s face for that remark but he didn't leave his side anyway. He knew that Ivar didn't want him to either. He could tell that his baby brother was afraid of what was to come. Bjorn had called at three in the morning to tell him and Hvitserk that Ivar had woken up. Apparently, he had fallen back asleep just ten minutes later, so they had stayed put but wide awake for the rest of the night. Not that any of them would get any good rest anyway at the moment. When Ubbe and Hvitserk arrived at seven, Ivar had still been sleeping but the doctor had proceeded to wake him for his ward round. Needless to say, Ivar hadn’t been happy to be woken up. He had been grumpy and groggy like it was just a normal school day for him and Ubbe had come into his room to nudge him until he would get up. 

Ivar had always needed someone to get him to get out of bed. He wasn’t lazy - he was just a heavy sleeper and not a morning person in the slightest. Well, none of them were. Except for Bjorn, of course. Bjorn, who got up at five every morning to go for a run and have a nice breakfast so he could get to work - the epitome of perfection in every way. Bjorn was the kind of guy who woke up looking flawless while the rest of them crawled out of their dark caves looking like bridge trolls, hissing at each other, and getting into squabbles before their first coffee. 

He pressed a kiss to the side of Ivar’s injured head just to mess with him a little. Ivar groaned in response.

“You should be glad,” The nurse addressed Ivar. “Your brothers never left your side since you arrived. They were very determined to never leave you alone.” There was a tinge of redness to Ivar’s cheeks and he noticed that he was very adamant to not look at anyone directly as if he feared he might turn into stone if anyone would make eye-contact with him. Ubbe knew his baby brother well enough to know what was going on inside that noggin. During his ward round, the doctor had only checked Ivar’s vitals and shone a light into his eyes, asking a couple of easy questions before moving on. The real assessment of the damage to Ivar’s nerves was yet to come. Ivar had hardly been able to answer those questions anyway. He had still been half asleep and Ubbe could tell that now he was afraid of the doctor’s questions and verdict. 

Ubbe refrained from asking anything about his legs. He was afraid of the answer and he could tell that Ivar was afraid to be asked. Maybe he was a bit of a coward. He should be there for his baby brother, after all. He should be strong and courageous. Instead, he felt like he just wanted to curl up somewhere and die.

As the nurse left the two brothers alone, Ubbe sat down on the edge of Ivar’s bed again and patted his shoulder. “Don't worry, everything will be just fine.” Ivar pinched his lips into a thin line but then, with this rather grim expression, he nodded slowly. Bjorn had said that Ivar had spoken when he had first woken up, that he had asked about Sigurd but now he wouldn't even address the accident or Sigurd at all. Maybe he didn't remember waking up earlier and talking to Bjorn. Maybe he didn't remember the accident, after all. It was possible that he didn't remember it. Maybe it would be better this way. It would certainly be easier for him, he assumed - to not have to live with that burden. A part of him, however, could tell that Ivar already knew what happened to Sigurd. 

“How long have I been here?” Ivar muttered at last as they were alone again.

“A little over two weeks now,” Ubbe answered dutifully, expecting Ivar to ask about Sigurd at last and wishing Bjorn would have had this conversation with Ivar instead. Now he was the one who had to break the news. He knew that there would be no way around it either. He had to say it. If Ivar wouldn't ask, he had to say it. “Ivar, listen … About the accident-”

“Sigurd is dead,” Ivar cut him off, his eyes downcast as he lay there so that his lashes would block Ubbe’s gaze at him. “I know…” His hand was shaking as he clasped his blanket so hard with his good hand that his knuckles turned white. 

Ubbe thought that he needed to say something - anything, really. He _should_ say something. There was nothing he could say, though, that would make this all go away, that would make this all okay again. Sigurd was dead and buried. Ivar had nearly succumbed to his injuries. It was a miracle that Ivar was alive and lucid. There was nothing that would ever make this all okay again. There was a damage done to their family that nothing could ever fix again. A festering wound. The only hope was that the pain would dull a little over time. In lack of anything he could potentially say to Ivar, he grabbed his good hand instead and squeezed it gently.

“Have you guys really been with me all the time?” Ivar asked quietly. He sounded like a child. He _was_ a child. It was easy to forget sometimes. But Ivar was only sixteen years old. He was a child. “Like the nurse said?”

“Yeah,” Ubbe huffed and squeezed Ivar’s hand. They had always been close, Ivar and he. It was a different closeness than Ubbe shared with Hvitserk, though. Hvitserk and he had always been attached at the hips. Wherever Ubbe would go, Hvitserk was sure to follow. Hvitserk was his best friend. The closeness he had always shared with Ivar had a different flavor. It was gentler, in a way, more affectionate, perhaps. Ivar didn't like it much when people would baby him or touch him or generally get very close to him. He was someone who needed his personal space and still he had always sought out Ubbe, bullying his way in Ubbe’s bed or in his arms or just in his personal bubble. The love he had for Ivar was not comparable to the love he had for his other brothers. There was no hierarchy to his love either, he had no favorite. The love he had for his baby brother was just _different_. “We took shifts. One of us stayed with you at all times. We just … We didn't want you to be alone if … you know...”

“If I died.”

“Yeah,” Ubbe murmured, not bothered or surprised in the slightest by Ivar’s bluntness. “We were … You had us all terrified. Floki came by too a couple of times. That poor old fool … He aged by years when he saw you like this. I mean he is not the youngest man anymore but he looked grey all of a sudden.”

“Poor old man,” Ivar hummed quietly. 

A knock against the open door announced the arrival of Ivar’s doctor. The man was friendly as always as he walked into the room. Ubbe slowly got up from Ivar’s bed and it didn't quite escape him how his brother looked at him as if he didn't want him to step away or let go of his hand. So, Ubbe stayed close to the bed but allowed the doctor to check on Ivar. Ubbe watched how the doctor pulled the blanket back. He checked on his bandages around his torso and stomach first and commented on how well the incision from the operation was healing. Then, after he had checked over the broken bones in Ivar’s body, the moment they had all been afraid of finally came as the doctor carefully pinched Ivar’s right leg.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” Ivar replied quickly, relief washing over his face. The doctor tested the other leg and again, Ivar felt it.

“Wiggle your toes for me, would you?” It was such a simple request. He remembered tagging along one time when Ivar had gone through one of his exams at the pediatrician's as a toddler. He remembered the doctor telling him to wiggle his toes and how he had gently tested his reflexes and how Ivar had squealed with laughter. Now he didn't laugh. Such a simple question yet it seemed to bring down Ivar’s entire world. 

“Are they … wiggling?” He asked Ubbe, instead of the doctor. Everything inside of him screamed to lie to his baby brother. The way he was lying flat on his back, Ivar couldn't see his toes without straining his neck. He could easily lie to Ivar and tell him that his toes were moving but nothing came out of his mouth as he tried.

※※※※※※※

“Ivar’s spinal cord got partly severed at L1,” Doctor Svenson said calmly and showed the three brothers the position of the injury with the help of a skeleton dummy inside his office. While they were sitting in the office of the doctor, the nurses were helping Ivar to wash in his room. It felt weird even thinking about that. And yet, Bjorn knew, this was reality now. Their baby brother would probably never walk again. He would need help with a lot of things going forward - and he would hate them for it.

“Injuries in this area usually come with a loss of functionality of the hips and legs. In most cases, the intestines, the bladder, and the reproductive organs are also affected. Since Ivar’s spinal cord has not completely been severed during the accident, we have to find out how much he is affected by the injury. When it comes to an injury like this there are usually two outcomes. The patient either retains control over his limbs and can move them _or_ the patient retains a sensory perception of the afflicted limbs but cannot move them. Ivar showed signs that he can still feel his lower extremities but not move them. Further testing will be needed, of course.”

“So,” Hvitserk asked quietly. He looked a little green in the face. “He’s … He won't be able to … walk?”

“It's not as simple as that,” Doctor Svenson said patiently. Experience with millions of patients and worried family members had taught him patience over the years. “Some people were able to relearn the use of their legs after an injury like this. I have seen cases in which the patient could actually walk again after a long period of physiotherapy and with the help of walking frames, canes, or crutches. His injury does not have to mean that Ivar will forever be wheelchair-bound.”

“But it is a possibility,” Bjorn murmured.

“Yes.” Dr. Svenson said. “Almost every second case of paraplegia is incomplete like Ivar’s and most of those people will need a wheelchair for the rest of their lives.”

It was like hearing the news of Sigurd’s death all over again. Maybe that was a little harsh but it was exactly what it felt like for Bjorn as he sat there and listened to the doctor. Ivar had yet to hear the news. Then again, Ivar wasn’t stupid. He probably already knew. 

It was Ubbe who wanted to be at Ivar’s side again when he received the news. Hvitserk and Bjorn watched numbly through the window how Ubbe grabbed Ivar’s hand with both of his, listened to the doctor telling Ivar the truth. Ivar didn't react to it at all for the longest time. He was in shock. They could tell. Maybe the reality of it all had not sunk in yet. Bjorn could see, however, how Ivar leaned more and more into his brother with every word the doctor said as if somehow Ubbe would be able to make it all better again, to make it all right and good again. He was like a small child how he sat there and not like the boisterous, cocky, loud-mouthed, arrogant, sarcastic teenager they all knew and loved.

It was hard to watch, seeing Ivar retreating more and more into his shell, saying nothing and just staring at the doctor as if he couldn't understand his language. Bjorn, who knew how bad Ivar’s temper could be, knew that the bomb had yet to explode. 

※※※※※※※

_It was snowing quite badly as they left the house. Behind them, loud music was still thump-thump-thumping through the night. Ivar laughed a high-pitched giggle but Sigurd groaned in frustration as the brothers stumbled down the snow-covered pathway between the front door of the house and the road._

_“Do you really need to pick fights all the time?”_

_“I_ didn't _pick a fight!” Ivar shot back gleefully, baring his teeth against the cold. He was slurring his words and staggering down the path towards the street where Sigurd had parked his car. Briefly, he thought that they should call Bjorn. He knew what Bjorn had said earlier but he also knew that Bjorn would come out here anyway to pick them up. Sigurd was too drunk to drive. They had planned on crashing on one of the sofas and sleep - before Ivar had gotten involved in that stupid fight. “I just fought back!”_

_“Yeah,” Sigurd groaned in exasperation - probably regretting that he had taken Ivar with him in the first place. “but why?”_

_“Because, my dear Sigurd, you won’t get anywhere in life if you allow other people to treat you like a doormat!” Ivar cackled as they reached the car. Sigurd was fumbling with the keys, dropping them in the snow. With yet another groan, his big brother leaned his head against the side of his car, already giving up his struggle._

_“I can't drive,” He moaned. “Really, Ivar … Let's go back and … then you say sorry…”_

_“No way!” Ivar laughed and bent down to pick up the keys. “I can drive.”_

_“You don't have a license.”_

_“So? That's just a piece of paper. Hvitserk taught me last summer. I can get us home. I’m not nearly as drunk as you!”_

He stared at the wheelchair next to the bed as if the thing had killed his mother. It was the end of his fourth week at the hospital. Two weeks of that he had spent asleep, the third week too he had slept for most of it. He was glad that he could leave the hospital now even though he knew that his next weeks and months would be spent coming back here again and again. At least he could sit up by himself again without being propped up or helped up, even if it hurt like a bitch. 

He was getting tired of lying on his back like a bitch, having his concerned brothers hover around and fret. Then again, the fretting and hovering were probably only going to get worse from now on. Ubbe was there to pick him up today, after all. Outside the world was being swallowed by snow and the cold was painting flowers against the window of his room. One of the nurses, a big guy named Karl, had helped Ivar into his wheelchair by the time Ubbe arrived. A part of him was adamant that it was only for now. He would go home and he would get out of this chair and walk around like he used to do. 

He knew that this was not going to happen. He knew that it would not magically all become better again. He knew that he would not magically regain control of his legs. And it was not like he wasn’t trying either. Every day that passed he was trying to move his legs, he was trying to get them to behave like he wanted them to behave. With every day he grew more and more frustrated with his uncooperative limbs. Today was no different. He felt small and helpless sitting in this wheelchair as Ubbe was pushing him down the hallway. He felt like he did as a child when his mom had not allowed him to leave the house to play with the other children because of his illness. 

“Are you excited to go home?” Ubbe asked on their elevator ride to the ground floor. He had already signed his release papers earlier. Bjorn, as his guardian, should be the one to take him home but since the medical staff was so used to his other two brothers by now no one was really making a big deal out of Ubbe picking him up. They all knew Ivar was in good hands. He had always been in good hands with Ubbe. 

“Sure,” He murmured quietly.

“We have … Uhm … relocated your room.” Ubbe then replied quietly. “To the ground floor. We got one of the guest bedrooms ready for you so … you know … the stairs.”

“I want to sleep in _my_ room.”

“I get it but … just for the time being until we all … Uhm…”

“I want to sleep in _my_ room.”

Ubbe cleared his throat and Ivar knew that this was not yet over. He knew that his brothers were right about putting him on the ground floor but that didn't mean he had to go down without a proper fight, right? He wanted _his_ room, with _his_ stuff, and _his_ gorgeous view across the woods and the lake. He wanted his life back. He didn't want anything to change. Not more than it had to. 

“Let's just get home first.” Ubbe smiled reassuringly as he pushed him through the lobby. Before they went outside, however, Ubbe stopped and took off his coat to put it around Ivar. “Sorry, I forgot to bring a coat for you.”

“It's not that far to the car, Ubbe.”

“Still, I don't want you to get cold.”

“You are such a mother hen.” 

Ubbe rolled his eyes in response with a lopsided smirk on his face but put the coat more securely around Ivar’s shoulder regardless before returning back to his duty of manhandling Ivar out into the cold. His brother’s car was waiting for them only a few meters away from the entrance of the hospital. There was a second of fear washing over Ivar at the sight of the car. He had been aware that he would need to get in a car eventually and yet it only struck him right then when he saw the car. At least Ubbe didn't seem to realize his uneasiness - or if he did he wasn’t acknowledging it. 

His brother stopped the wheelchair next to the passenger’s seat and engaged the brakes so that Ivar wouldn’t just roll backward again. It took both brothers a lot of awkward manhandling for Ivar to get into the car at last. Ubbe even put his seatbelt on for him before closing the door and returning the wheelchair to the entrance of the hospital. Ivar watched his big brother jog back towards the car and get in. Ubbe flashed him one of his big, sunny smiles before he reached over and ruffled his hair - or what was left of it anyway. 

“Let's get you home, little brother.” Ubbe started the car and the radio jumped to life blaring some god-awful pop song their brother Hvitserk would bop his head to and sing along making it his mission in life to miss absolutely every note. They pulled out of the parking lot with that awful son still ravaging his ears. 

Leave it to Ubbe to try and get his spirits up as he started lip-syncing to the song in quite the over-exaggerated fashion - which would have normally caused Ivar to cackle in amusement. Right now, however, he couldn't bring himself to laugh. So far, none of his siblings had asked him about the accident or talked much about Sigurd. He had missed his brother’s funeral. Apparently, he hadn't been dead right away. Sigurd had died in the hospital while the doctors had desperately tried to save both of their lives. It was his fault and yet no one addressed the elephant in the room. A part of him wanted to yell at Ubbe for not asking him about it - but in a way, he was glad because he was afraid to answer the questions his siblings might ask him. It was easier to pretend that nothing had happened, that he didn't remember anything. 

Ivar leaned his head against the window and watched the road pass by while the heating was slowly warming up the car. They left Hedeby and drove down the country road that was going down the mountain in serpentines close to the coastline. He could see the ocean from here, vast, open, and beautiful. It was not the fastest route home but it was the route that was farthest away from the sight of the accident. He had never loved his brother Ubbe more than right then and there. The child inside of him, the same child that had so often gone to his big brother at night, wanted to lean over and put his head on Ubbe’s shoulder. Instead, he kept his head leaned against the window, listened to the radio, and watched the scenery flash by. 

In the distance, he could already see Kattegat waiting for his return but in his mind he could only see his brother’s body lying in the snow in front of the car, blood pooling out of him, glass sticking in his body, motionless. In his mind, he still heard the screeching of metal, a bomb exploding inside his head, and his own screams as they tore through the night. He was trapped in a coffin of steel that was poking through his flesh, paralyzing him. He hadn't been conscious for long as he had been trapped in that steel sarcophagus but he remembered being afraid that the car might start burning while he would be trapped inside. Maybe that would have been better.

“Home sweet home!” Ubbe announced and smacked his left leg without thinking about it. It didn't hurt anyway. As he directed his eyes back at the road ahead he could see the welcome sign for their town. Ubbe rushed past it and then slowed down as they dove into the town. Ubbe had always been a good driver. He was attentive, careful, and didn't take unnecessary risks - very much the polar opposite of Ivar himself. Ivar could already see the house a little further out in the hills of Kattegat. “You got loads of get-well cards from your classmates, didn't you?”

“Yeah,” Ivar muttered quietly, perplexed by the sudden change in topic. He remembered how the nurses had brought him the cards one morning and how even then he had known that there was no point in reading them. He didn't have any friends. “Miss Ingarsson probably forced everyone to write those.”

“You are such a pessimist” Ubbe smiled. “I’m sure you’ve been missed.”

“Just realistic, brother.” Ivar hummed. “I always pick fights with everyone, after all. I’m not a joy to be around.”

“Well … you are feisty.”

“And you have always been too quick to defend me.”

“Maybe,” Ubbe huffed. “Hey remember that winter when dad took us all camping?”

“Sure,” Ivar replied quietly. In his mind he was still screeching his brother’s name, staring at his body in the snow, desperate for any sign of life from Sigurd. “We got lost out there and mom freaked out when we got home.”

“I remember thinking ‘this time she will actually dump dad’” Ubbe snorted. “But it was fun, wasn’t it? Being up there in the mountains, just the six of us, fishing and hunting, and doing stuff together. You were … seven and it was the first time mom let you out of her sight and go with dad. I remember how much fun it was, being able to teach my little brother silly things out there without mom hovering around you all the time.”

“Her love was often smothering,” Ivar admitted even though it hurt to talk about his mother in this way. She was one of the very few people in his life who had truly loved him, after all. “I remember being scared of the trip because Mom couldn't come with me. Dad didn't want her there. I remember them arguing about it. She was yelling at him that she wouldn't allow him to take me along, that it was too dangerous for me. But Dad told her that she needed to stop smothering me and allow me to be a _normal_ boy. I didn't understand it then but … I loved him for it. Mom was always afraid I could get hurt but Dad wanted me to do everything normal kids did, despite my illness. He never wanted me to live in fear of my own body.”

“And then we came home and you’ve gotten pneumonia!” Ubbe laughed. 

“I forgot about that” He hummed - a rare smile ghosting over his face at the memory. He remembered sitting in his father’s jeep, wrapped in a blanket and Ubbe’s arms, wedged in-between Ubbe and Hvitserk on the backseat while Sigurd had been allowed to ride in the front between Ragnar and Bjorn. He remembered it being warm and nice, remembered feeling safe and protected in the back of the car while Bjorn, Sigurd, and Ragnar had sung along to some weird folk song on the radio. To this day, this was one of his best memories. The smell of coffee, dad’s aftershave, and Bjorn’s deodorant in the car, the song on the radio, being allowed to cuddle with Ubbe under the pretense of being sick and dozing off in his arms, the AC on full blast like it was now, the scenery just rushing past them. 

“I remember how we sat outside one night and just looked at the stars. Well … that was the night when you caught pneumonia … but it was still a good night.”

“It was,” Ivar agreed. “Dad told us stories about the old gods and Sigurd-” He stopped himself and bit down on the words he had wanted to say. Sigurd made fun of him for not knowing those stories. Sigurd had teased him relentlessly for not knowing the names of their old gods until Ivar had thrown himself on top of his brother and started wrestling the much stronger Sigurd under the cheers of his brothers and father. At one point, Ragnar had easily picked Ivar up by the back of his jacket like a wolf would pick up their puppies and put him in his lap to restrain him but Sigurd had laughed and ruffled his hair. It had all been in good fun. Back in the day, Sigurd and he hadn't had such bad fights yet. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Ubbe said without Ivar needing to tell the story. It was hard for Ubbe as well. It was hard for all of them. When Ivar would look at Hvitserk sometimes these days, he could see that his big brother was blaming him for Sigurd’s death. Rightfully so. _He_ had been driving, after all. He had killed his brother, after all. He had killed his brother and he could not take that back anymore. “It’s one of my best memories - that trip. Dad never really had much time for us afterward. All he did was work all the time after that - and then we didn't have much time to spend together anymore, the five of us, because of school and shit.”

The closer they came to the house now, the faster his heart was beating in his chest, threatening to break more of his slowly healing ribs. He felt sick and nauseous but that was probably just his meds wearing off. He was due for another dosage of painkillers soon. Still, he felt like throwing up the closer they got to the house. As if he was reading his mind, Ubbe reached out and patted his shoulder.

“Don't be nervous,” Ubbe said quietly. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Hey, look! Isn’t that Floki’s car? He couldn't wait to see you. He was probably too anxious to stay home until we call to tell that you are home.”

The ghost of a smile flashed over his face at this. Floki. Ragnar had been gone so much during his childhood that sometimes it seemed that Floki had been much more of a father figure to him than his own father was. In a way, he would even go as far as to say that Floki had raised him. And where his own mother had often been overbearing and anxious, Floki’s wife Helga had been comforting and sweet and gave him all the freedom that a growing boy needed - with no fear that he would get hurt. Helga had just said that getting hurt was part of growing up. It was normal and good. He loved Helga and Floki dearly. There had been times growing up that he had loved them more than his own parents.

Right now, however, he was afraid to see Floki. He was afraid to see those sad eyes. He was afraid of Floki’s reaction to seeing him like that. He was afraid of his own reaction when he would see Floki’s reaction. If Floki would break down, he would break down. He was sure of that. And he didn't want to break down. Not in front of his brothers - not in front of anyone. And yet, in his childhood, Floki used to make everything better. No matter what had affected his mind or soul, Floki had found a way to make it better and bring a smile to Ivar’s face with his weird inventions. He had built many things for Ivar - mostly toys, of course.

Ubbe maneuvered his car through the open gate that was leading onto the property and drove up the pebble stone driveway that was leading in a circle around a small fountain. He parked right at the front doors and turned off the engine. “Wait, I’m gonna help you,” Ubbe said as Ivar was fidgeting with the seatbelt. He groaned and rolled his eyes.

“It's my legs I cannot move, Ubbe. My hands are working perfectly fine.”

“I know, I-” Ubbe stopped himself and then flashed him that dorky smile he loved so much. “Sorry, you are right. I’m just-”

“Mothering me?”

“Yeah!” He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I am. Okay … I’m … Uhm … right…” It should never be said that Ubbe Ragnarsson was not eloquent. Ivar rolled his eyes once more at his brother’s nervous fidgeting before Ubbe got out of the car. That was when the front door opened. He was a bit surprised that his brothers hadn't come piling out into the driveway already like a pack of misbehaving dogs. Ragnar had often called them his pack of wolves. He wasn’t wrong about that. 

Before Ubbe could even walk around the car, Bjorn was there to open the passenger’s door to pull Ivar into his arms. It took Ivar a second to realize that Bjorn was actually lifting him out of the car and carrying him over to the door like he was a child. He had no time to protest. “Welcome home, little brother!”

“We missed you!” Hvitserk greeted. “You wouldn't believe the absolute state the kitchen is in, Ubbe brought disorder to the way you arranged the cereal boxes. It is madness!”

Behind him, Ubbe laughed. “You are a traitor, Hvitserk. A traitor, I say.”

Bjorn carried him into the foyer of the house. He had missed being home for sure and still, he was nervous being here again. Everything had changed since he had been home last time. Everything was wrong now. His brother carried him into the living room like he weighed nothing where he put him down on the sofa and patted his shoulder before actually leaning down and pressing a kiss to his head. “Welcome home,” He said again. Looking at Bjorn now, he looked much older than he was. Was that a grey hair he spotted in Bjorn’s blonde hair?

“There he is!” He heard Floki’s high-pitched giggle before he saw the man and before he could even react properly, Floki had flung his arms around him tightly to squeeze him as hard as he could without actually hurting him. “There he is … my boy,” Floki said with a gentle smile as he released him. He cupped Ivar’s face and looked him in the eyes. There was so much sadness in Floki’s eyes now, so much tenderness and love for him, so much forgiveness that it made Ivar’s throat close up.

**-End of Chapter 5-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Feedback means the world to me <3


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is tired

He couldn't sleep. That in and of itself shouldn't be surprising. If anything, his body should be full of restless energy after he had slept for two weeks straight and then some. Yet, Ivar was constantly tired and exhausted. He couldn't move around much - not just because of his legs but his other injuries that were still healing. It was frustrating. He had always been a bundle of energy, even as his mother hadn't really allowed him to utilize this energy out of fear of him getting hurt. While his brothers had played soccer and roughhoused with one another, Ivar had played board games with his mother while Aslaug had drunk wine. 

He felt trapped in his own body once more, just like as he had when he was little and under his mother’s constant control and supervision. He couldn't even leave his room much. Not without help. Floki had brought them the old wheelchair of his mother until he would get his own but Ivar had not yet the strength to maneuver himself into the wheelchair and out of it. He was a prisoner in his bed or wherever else his brothers would park him. Tomorrow, Bjorn had told him earlier, they would go to a medical supply store and discuss wheelchair options. 

Bjorn, his smart, responsible big brother had already talked to one of the construction companies his father used to work with to take over the work on their house. Until Bjorn had told him about it, Ivar hadn't realized that changes needed to be made to their home. For him. This company was supposed to make the house _wheelchair accessible_. Because that was now Ivar’s life. He would forever be sitting in a wheelchair. He would be at the mercy of other people forever. And wasn’t that just a fitting punishment for him?

The screeching of metal made him jolt upright in his bed. He jumped to have a look out of the window - forgot that he couldn't actually jump out of bed and slammed hard into the hardwood floor of his new bedroom with a painful groan. His whole body hurt from the impact. Fuck. 

Suddenly, there was a herd of stampeding bulls outside his room in the hallway, and only two seconds after his stunt, the door swung open to reveal a very much out of breath and disheveled- looking Ubbe. “Are you alright?” His brother immediately came rushing towards him and before Ivar had time to realize what was happening, Ubbe had already managed to maneuver him back into his bed. “Are you hurt? Do you need anything?”

“I’m not a baby, Ubbe!” Ivar hissed before he could stop himself from doing so. Ubbe’s mothering and fretting could be irritating under normal circumstances but right now it was downright obnoxious. Ivar had always hated being coddled. It made him feel helpless and useless. Maybe it was just because his mother had never seemed to feel the need to coddle his other brothers so much. He hated nothing more than being seen as being weak or unable to do something. “Stop coddling me, okay? I just fucking fell out of the bed, no need to call the national guard or something, Jesus Christ!”

For a long moment, Ubbe stared at him before a smile started to appear on his face - which only added to the irritation for Ivar. “I’m glad to see that my bitchy little brother is still in there. I was starting to get worried when you didn't bite my head off at all in the car or at any point in the hospital.”

“You are irritating me with all of this fussing.”

“Have I ever cared if I irritated you with something I did?” Ubbe snorted. “I’m your big brother, it's my job to be annoying and irritating to you. It's also my job to make sure you didn't break your head open again or something.”

“No heads have been broken.” Ivar rolled his eyes. “Why are you up and downstairs anyway? If you say you slept on the couch just in case I needed something, I will end you.”

“How would you do it?” Ubbe huffed.

“I would smother you with my pillow. It might take a while but we will get there eventually.”

“I just,” Ubbe raised his hands in surrender, a sheepish smile on his face. “I couldn't sleep. I can't help it, okay? Sue me.” 

Ivar didn't know what to say to that. It was odd for him and uncomfortable to see his big brother so worried. Even if Ubbe didn't try to show it right now, he could tell that it was worry keeping him up all night. And Ivar, for once, had no idea what to say about that. His go-to emotion was always anger. He had a bad temper and he knew that he was often aggressive and harsh towards the people he loved. It wasn’t like he wanted to lash out at his family either. It just _happened_. A part of him wanted to say sorry. A part of him wanted to reach out and be hugged by Ubbe and ask his brother to stay with him tonight like they did as kids but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. He didn't want to be weak or soft. He couldn't allow himself to be weak or soft. In his experience, people used it against others if they were weak and soft. 

“Okay … since you … you’re still in one piece … I’m gonna … head back to bed.”

“Yeah, but actually go to bed this time.” He shot at his brother, anger flaring up inside of him. “I don't need your help all the time, Ubbe. I mean, it's not like this shit will change, right? I have to adjust to being a fucking cripple. I can't always call my big brothers to help me with everything.”

“Don't say that!”

“What?”

“That word!”

“What word? Cripple?”

“Yes!” Ubbe growled. “You’re not a cripple, Ivar!”

“Of course, I am!” Ivar bit back now with more heat behind his words. “Look at me! I will never fucking walk again, Ubbe, that’s just the truth and nothing you could do will ever change that! And it fucking serves me right, doesn't it? That's what you guys are thinking, aren't you? I killed Sigurd, after all! And I am done with you guys walking on eggshells around me and not saying anything! I can tell that you hate me! I can tell that you’d rather have _me_ dead instead of him!”

Ubbe got up without a word. His expression was unreadable as he turned away from the bed and marched out of Ivar’s room before slamming the door shut behind him. He had expected him to yell at him or cuss at him like he usually would. Silence was … new and it frightened him. 

※※※※※※※

Sleep had become a rare good these past few weeks for all of them. The sun was already creeping up over the horizon as Hvitserk crawled out of bed and dragged his exhausted body out of his room, down the hallway, past the now desolate rooms of his two younger brothers, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen. None of them were morning people - with the exception of Bjorn, of course. Perfect Bjorn who would leave before sunrise to go for a run. The one thing all five of them had in common, however, was the need for coffee in the morning so Hvitserk made a batch for all of them, surprised that Ubbe hadn't done so already. 

Usually, Ubbe got out of bed before him. He, as the oldest of Aslaug’s sons, was responsible like this. With a cup of the black life elixir in hand, Hvitserk walked into the living room because he wanted to watch some cartoons to go with his cup of joe. He might be twenty years old by now but that really didn't stop him from watching Saturday morning cartoons before breakfast, remembering how he had snuck down as a child, trying to not wake up his parents. More often than not, he had pulled Ivar out of his bed and carried him all the way down the stairs, huddled with him on the sofa, and watched TV until their parents would wake up. Instead of flopping down on the sofa right away, however, he paused as he found the blankets and pillows on the couch. The nest had been deserted and it was easy to make out who had built it in the first place.

Ubbe. The mother hen of their tribe of brothers. Of course, Ubbe would sleep on the couch just to have an eye - or rather an ear - on Ivar.

A part of him felt guilty for not thinking about sleeping down here to have an eye on Ivar. A fine brother he was. Fuck. It was at this moment that he realized that Ivar had no means of getting out of bed or to the bathroom on his own. He wondered if he was already awake. At the hospital, he had been asleep for most of the time. His body was recovering, after all. That bathroom question had been quite awkward for all of them yesterday already but somehow they managed and until Ivar’s bathroom would have been changed they would need to continue to manage it. 

With a sigh on his lips, Hvitserk walked out of the living room, his plans abandoned like his dignity and walked down the corridor that held the guest bedrooms. Ivar’s door was closed. It hadn't been closed last night because they had argued that Ivar wouldn't be able to open the door in case of an emergency and they would potentially not hear him if he needed help if the door was closed. That had been Bjorn’s worry, though, because apparently their doors were made of 30 centimeters of solid steel and not thin plywood. At one point, Ragnar had just given up replacing those expensive oak doors after his sons had destroyed them again and again while _playing_. 

He knocked but didn't wait for an answer. They were brothers after all. Ivar could be glad that he was knocking in the first place. Knocking was a courtesy reserved only for people not of their blood. He remembered a time when Ubbe had lost his ‘privilege’ to even have a door for two months because Aslaug had caught him smoking pot in his room. Amateur. Everyone knew that the attic was the best place for this. That was where their dad had smoked pot from time to time, after all. As he entered the room the shit-eating grin he had been wearing on his face vanished as he found Ivar’s bed empty and his comforter on the ground. The glass of water that Hvitserk had put next to his bed last night was lying tipped over on the nightstand, water was dripping on the hardwood floor, there was a bit of blood on the ground. No sign of Ivar, though.

Alarm sirens went off in his head. Immediately, just like a little child, he wanted to scream for Ubbe or Bjorn to help him in this dilemma but then he noticed light underneath the door to Ivar’s ensuite bathroom and his panic subsided for a moment. He walked over to the door, knocked sharply against the wood, and opened the door again without waiting for an answer.

“What the hell are you doing there?” Hvitserk had almost forgotten about his coffee at that point as he had a front-row seat to his baby brother’s naked bum. Well, it wouldn't be the first time. Even someone as niminy-piminy as their mom had seen reason when she had realized that having four boys that were very close in age to one another meant that bathing them in pairs was just easier for everyone involved. The last time he had shared a bath with his baby brother, Ivar had been barely seven years old. So yeah, in essence, seeing his brother’s ass was not the most unusual thing for Hvitserk. In fact, he was confident that he would be able to recognize each of his brothers just by their naked asses and he would be affronted if they wouldn't recognize his ass as well. 

“What the hell does it look like?”

And wasn’t that just the 1000 Dollar question? “Do you want an honest answer or do you want my help for whatever it is you are trying to achieve down there?” Right now, his brother was just crawling about on the floor with his pants down. That too, surprisingly enough, was not the weirdest thing Hvitserk would have seen Ivar doing. “What did you do to your hand?” Now, as Ivar pulled himself into a sitting position against the bathtub, he could actually see the blood on the tiles and the way he was cradling his good hand to his chest.

“Stupid water glass” Ivar shot back with a glare as if Hvitserk was personally responsible for his plight. “I knocked it over and sliced my hand. Whose brilliant idea was it to put it there?”

“Probably Bjorn,” Hvitserk smirked as Ivar glared again. “Why are your pants down?”

“I tried taking a piss, why else?” He snapped. Of course, Ivar snapping at him really did not have the same effect as he was sitting half-naked on his bathroom floor as it usually would have had. He thought himself a wolf but right now he looked more like a flustered puppy.

“ _Tried?_ ”

“I succeeded.” Ivar groaned. “But the success came with casualties.” He noticed that Ivar’s pants were indeed a little wet here and there. If Ivar would have just been drunk and pissed himself, Hvitserk would make fun of him and never let him live it down but right now Hvitserk just felt his heart clench. He still tried not to show pity on his face because that would just make it worse for Ivar. “And then I wanted to get in the shower.”

“You could have just asked someone to help you,” Hvitserk shrugged, took a sip of his coffee, and leaned against the doorframe. 

“I don't need help.”

“Okay, then get in the tub. Show me you can do it. I am really curious to see how you will try to get your ass in there with just one functioning arm - after you sliced open your hand because you were a dumbass and flailing around like a fish on land, probably. Come on, do it.”

“Fuck you!”

“Okay, since you don't need my help, I’m gonna go back to my coffee now and watch my Saturday morning cartoons in peace.” He grinned and took a step back into Ivar’s bedroom. He counted the seconds as he walked to the bedroom door until the inevitable happened.

“Hvitserk! Come back, you asshole!”

“Oh, look who needs my help after all!” Hvitserk smirked as he walked back to the bathroom. 

“Yeah, stop gloating and help me, Asshat!” Hvitserk grinned, walked back into the room to put his mug down on Ivar’s dresser, and walked back into the bathroom. Getting Ivar out of his clothes was the first step in all of this mess. He threw the soiled clothes in the laundry bin before he grabbed Ivar under his arms and lifted him into the tub. Thank God he was working out with Bjorn every other day. Otherwise, this wouldn't have happened. Ivar was surprisingly heavy - even though Hvitserk was aware that both Bjorn and Ubbe would say he wasn’t. Somehow he managed to maneuver his baby brother into the tub and took the hand shower.

“I can go from here!” Ivar bristled as he switched on the water and doused his brother with lukewarm water like a misbehaving dog.

“Yeah, or you could just sit back, relax and shut your mouth.” Hvitserk sighed. “Listen, little brother, you can barely move on your own. If you keep going like this and continue to be such a little bitch, you will only prolong your suffering because your fucking bones will not heal properly. You need our help right now and there is nothing wrong with that so get your head out of your ass and just deal with it.”

“I don't fucking _want_ to deal with it!”

“I know because you are a stubborn asshole but you don't have a choice here, brother.” He bit down on his tongue before he could say what almost escaped his mouth. Ivar was feeling rotten already. He didn't need to pour salt in his wounds. Ivar looked like he was ready to murder him. Luckily, there were no sharp objects around right now. Ivar kept his mouth shut after that, surprisingly enough. Hvitserk proceeded to wash his back and help him clean up before he helped Ivar back out of the tub. He let him sit on the rim after he put a towel around his hips. Only then Hvitserk went to find a first aid kit and took care of the cut in Ivar’s hand.

“Where's Ubbe anyway?” Hvitserk asked after a while. “He was sleeping on the couch but I haven't seen or heard him yet. I would expect that he had already come to check on you if he was awake.”

“I don't know.” Ivar shrugged but something about the way he avoided Hvitserk’s eyes told the older of the two brothers that Ivar had at least an idea where their brother went or why he left in the first place. 

“Did something happen?”

“We had a fight last night,” Ivar muttered without looking at him while Hvitserk cleaned his wound, dabbed some rubbing alcohol on it, and started bandaging it as if they had done this a million times over. Luckily, the wound wasn’t deep enough to merit going to the hospital for stitches. God knew Hvitserk had enough of hospitals for the rest of his fucking life. 

“A fight?” Hvitserk raised his brows. Ubbe never got into fights with any of them. Ivar? Yes. But not Ubbe. Even on a bad day, Ubbe was like a calm mountain lake in the middle of a forest. Ivar, on the other hand, was a hurricane on a good day. Still, there was something about Ubbe that had always calmed even Ivar down enough to swallow his anger. Hvitserk knew no one who wouldn't get along with Ubbe Ragnarsson. “What was it about?”

“Doesn't matter,” Ivar replied quickly. “I was just sick of him coddling me and … it got heated, like it always does when I open my stupid mouth because all I ever do is pick fights with other people for no fucking reason.”

“That much is true,” Hvitserk laughed, even though this level of self-loathing was new from his baby brother who was always so cocky and arrogant, too full of himself to recognize his own flaws. “He wasn't in his room though. Do you think he left the house?”

“Maybe he went to Margrethe…”

“Maybe.” He didn't like it when his brothers would leave in the middle of the night, not after what had happened. Every time one of his brothers got in the car, he felt his stomach twist these days. He would be antsy and restless until they returned home safely again. He would never get it out of his head, how Sigurd looked when they had been allowed to see him at last. As he now looked at his little brother, he could still see Sigurd in front of him. Sigurd, who had had so much potential, so much going for him. Sigurd, who had been like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day. They had needed to identify his body. His face had been cut up from the glass of the windshield. Broken bones had been crudely fixed. He swallowed down the anger that he could taste in his throat like bile. Now was not the time. 

Ivar was always one to get angry easily. He had a bad temper and he lashed out on people when he would get angry. It was often hard to deny him anything because he would somehow find a way to get what he wanted anyway. For the longest time, Hvitserk had been annoyed with that and he knew that Sigurd was too but in the past couple of years, Hvitserk had learned that this was actually a good thing. Ivar had it harder than the rest of them. He needed to work harder, to be more aggressive in his pursuits, to _be_ harder sometimes. He utilized his aggression to get forward in life. He was resilient, that was all. If he wouldn't be, maybe he wouldn't have survived his first few months. However, Hvitserk knew Ivar well enough to know that behind all of this, Ivar was still a child with a fragile heart. He was only sixteen, after all. He didn't want to fight his brothers all the time. He could tell. This hard outer shell was nothing but a way to protect himself from being too vulnerable in front of them so that they - or anyone else - wouldn't be able to hurt him. So, if Hvitserk would now attack him, that would only lead to Ivar getting angrier in response as a way to shield himself. 

He had to keep that in mind when dealing with Ivar. He had to stay calm because Ivar would try to provoke him into lashing out. It was easier for Ivar to fight because he knew nothing else, really. 

“Don't worry,” Hvitserk said to Ivar. “He’ll be back. Maybe he finally broke up with that bitch. I hope he did. It’s about time.”

“Ubbe has always been too soft,” Ivar sighed. “Do you really think he finally grew a set of balls and dumped that girl? I mean she is pretty and has money. She would be the kind of girl, mom would have _wanted_ him to marry.”

And wasn’t that just the sad truth? Their mother would not have cared if Margrethe was good for Ubbe or not. She would not have cared if Ubbe was happy with her or not. 

Between the three older brothers, it had always been an unspoken truth that their mother Aslaug didn’t care about them as much as she cared about Ivar. However, Sigurd used to go even farther with that. Sigurd had once told them that while their mother cared greatly about Ivar, she did not love him either. The three of them had always known that their mother didn't love them and that she didn't want them in the first place. Ubbe had been nothing more than an accident and he had tried to make up for that by being charming and by being a complete sweetheart to his mother as if to say ‘See, Mom? You didn't want me but just imagine life without me now!’. Ubbe had always been the reliable rock for their mother, the person she could dump her responsibilities - namely Hvitserk and Sigurd - on. And Ubbe had taken it in strides and with a sunny smile on his face. Looking back on his childhood, he barely remembered spending much time with either of his parents. 

It had always been Ubbe. Still, he would go as far as to agree with Sigurd now. Maybe their mother had not wanted or loved them but he would say that Ivar had had it worse. She had smothered him, taken away his freedom. She might not have loved him but he had been a sick child. He had come too early into this world, had been too frail, too tiny, too weak. Nobody had thought that he would survive and Aslaug had bathed in the attention. That was the horrible truth about their mother’s care for Ivar. They had had a mother who cared only about herself and about what her children could do for her. And, in Ivar’s case, that meant that he ensured that people would see her as some form of a martyr, some form of a saint for not letting a nanny take care of her youngest but doing everything herself. In reality, however, she used to shut the door on Ivar during his crying fits when he was a baby and went to get a drink. Thankfully, Ivar had been too small to remember it now. 

“Yes,” He said then with a lazy grin on his face. “and she is the kind of girl dad would have warned him about. Margrethe is crazy. Girls like her are bad news. Even Ubbe should see that by now.”

“He does,” Ivar huffed. “But as I said, he has always been too soft.”

“You were inseparable when we were little.” Hvitserk teased his little brother with a smirk. He knew that Ivar didn't like to be reminded of his puppy-phase. “You always followed Ubbe around like a little duckling. He’s always been the softest when you were concerned.”

“Says the one who was attached at the hips with Ubbe.” Ivar sighed. “No matter where Ubbe went, you followed. No matter what Ubbe did, you wanted to do it as well.”

“Yeah,” Hvitserk muttered and finished up bandaging his wound. In his memory, however, Ivar had been just the same with Ubbe. Little Ivar had _adored_ his big brother.

“What are you guys doing here?” Over their conversation, neither one of them had heard the footsteps outside of Ivar’s room in the hallway. Only as Bjorn’s voice sounded from the bathroom door, both brothers turned to look. “What happened?” He pointed at Ivar’s now bandaged hand.

“Just a little accident” Hvitserk shrugged and hoped Bjorn would just stop asking questions. He didn't want to make it even more awkward for Ivar than it already was. “But since you are here now, you could help us out. Our dear brother is quite heavy for such a little shit.”

Bjorn rolled his eyes fondly as he walked over to them. “You are just weak” Bjorn muttered and Hvitserk got out of the way and watched how Bjorn took their little brother on his back to deliver him back to his bed. Together, Hvitserk and Bjorn helped Ivar to get dressed, and not once Bjorn asked what happened to Ivar’s other clothes. Well, Bjorn was not stupid, after all. Hvitserk’s coffee had grown cold by the time they had maneuvered Ivar to the living room where he was sitting in Ubbe’s discarded nest. Ivar was sipping on a fresh cup as Hvitserk flopped down beside him. As a way of thanking him, Ivar handed his mug to his brother. Hvitserk took a sip and gave it back, and smacked the back of Ivar’s head.

※※※※※※※

As he stared out of the window in Margrethe’s living room and watched the sunrise with a cup of coffee in his hands, he wondered what he should do next. The sun was slowly creeping up the sky behind the misty, snow-covered mountains and tinted the whole sky pink. It was a lovely sight to behold. He remembered watching the sunrise with Bjorn, Ivar, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and their father during that camping trip when they were little. He remembered sitting in the snow with his baby brother in his lap, huddled in a thick blanket. How big and full of wonder Ivar’s eyes used to be…

“Why are you up?” Margrethe’s voice was still a bit raspy after waking up so early in the morning. It was not even five o’clock yet and still, Ubbe had been unable to sleep any longer than this. In fact, after coming here, he had not slept at all. Margrethe hadn't asked why he had shown up to her place in the middle of the goddamn night either. She never really asked about him or his family - only to belittle his choices and his attachment to his brothers, if anything. She just didn't get it. She would probably never really get it. There had been a time where Ubbe had been okay with that too. He had thought that it was normal that someone who had grown up as an only child would never quite understand the bond between siblings. Right now he saw it as a difference that they could not possibly overcome. It was not just that Margrethe didn’t understand and didn’t care to understand. It was the fact that Margrethe wanted him to choose between her or his brothers. Maybe he just needed sleep. 

“Just … thinking” He replied tiredly. Margrethe walked over to where he was sitting and sat down in his lap, her slender arms quickly finding a way to wrap around his neck, making it impossible for Ubbe to continue drinking his coffee. He really wanted his coffee.

“Thinking?” She smiled sweetly. “About what? About how you’ll make it up to me for letting me down during family dinner?”

“My brother was in the hospital,” He hissed in response, anger flaring up inside of him without warning. “I am not going to apologize for wanting to be with my family when we didn't even know if he would survive so drop it already.”

“Urgh!” Margrethe shot up again and almost made him spill his coffee on her expensive white sofa in the process. “ _Your family! Your brother!_ I am tired of hearing about that stuff! It's always _‘my family this, my family that’_! You never make time for me!”

“Are you kidding me?” Ubbe growled as he too got up from the sofa now. “As my girlfriend, you should be asking me how Ivar is doing now that he will be sitting in a wheelchair for the rest of his life! You should be asking me how I am doing after the death of Sigurd! You should be there for me, Margrethe! But all you ever do is bitch about not being the center of attention! You weren't even there for the funeral! I mean how messed up is that? You claim to love me yet you have no interest in my life or my family! I needed you, Margrethe! I needed you when Ivar was in the hospital! I needed you during the funeral! I needed you at my side to give me strength and hold my hand! You didn't care! And you don't care now!”

“As far as I am concerned, Ivar has done this to himself.” Her words were cold as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Ubbe had never wanted to slap someone as badly as he wanted to slap her right at that very moment. Her eyes were icy like rain in the middle of January as she looked at him. Not for the first time, Ubbe saw what his brother had seen from the beginning. A cold-hearted, uncaring, self-absorbed bitch. “So what he’s a cripple now? I never liked him! He always gave me the fucking creeps when he would drop by for something. Urgh! So get over yourself, Ubbe. You can't play his mom all the time. He has to learn to live as a cripple. You can't always be there for him. You need to take care of yourself first.”

“Which means I have to take care of _you_ first, isn’t that right? Isn't that what you actually want to say? I need to take care of _you_ and _your_ needs first. My family is irrelevant to you.”

“Yes, it is! I am your girlfriend, your queen! I should always come first!”

“You know what?” He slammed his cup down on the coffee table. “Fuck you, Margrethe. It's over.”

“What do you mean it's over?”

“I don't want anything to do with you anymore or ever again.”

“Are you breaking up with me? Because of your family?”

“Yes!” He yelled back. “Yes, I am breaking up with you but not because of my family but because you are a fucking crazy bitch that cares for no one but herself and I am over this, Margrethe! Have a nice fucking life!”

As he walked past her he quickly grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the apartment before she could say or do anything else. It wasn’t that he was afraid of her. He was afraid that he might give her a second chance if she would use the right words on him. He knew she would be able to. He couldn't risk that. So, instead, Ubbe fled her apartment and rushed out of the building into the cold air of this winter morning. For the first time in his life, as he stood there at the side of the road in front of his car, Ubbe Ragnarsson didn't know what to do or where to go.

**-End of Chapter 6-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it is not a dealbreaker to many of you who enjoyed the story so far that I included Heahmund/Ivar as a pairing. This pairing will only show up in the very last chapter, until then, they will be not romantically involved at all.
> 
> Tell me what you think! Feedback means the world to me.


	7. tears

The very moment they walked into that place, Ivar hated it with a burning passion and would much rather set it ablaze than actually listen to that oh so understanding-looking young woman with that oh so understanding and sympathetic smile on her face that acted as if she would know what he was going through. Bjorn had called in advance to get everything set for Ivar. Bjorn had always been a planner, someone who would take charge and make sure that everything was in order and accounted for. Bjorn never allowed the chance to play a part in _anything_. He was boring like that. Right now, however, he should probably be glad that Bjorn was such a boring old man. He was taking care of everything for Ivar - but a bitter voice in the back of his head kept reminding Ivar that he was only doing so because it was his job as his legal guardian and that, deep down inside, Bjorn hated every second of this because he, just like the rest of his family, blamed Ivar for what had happened to Sigurd.

He listened idly to how Bjorn and the lady talked as if Ivar wasn’t even there. It seemed easy to discount someone in a wheelchair - albeit an old one from Floki’s mother - as a mere object after Bjorn had engaged the brakes and parked Ivar at the side of the room. Thanks to his injured arm, he wouldn't even be able to maneuver himself around at all right now - without spinning on the spot, which would only add to his humiliation. They talked about different wheelchair types and models as if they were talking about fancy sports cars and not once either one of them took his opinion into account. That was just Bjorn, though. He didn't take it personally. Bjorn was just like that. And this woman … well, she should be more professional but Bjorn often enough had this effect on women. 

He was perfect, after all. Perfect Bjorn. Even Ivar as his baby brother could admit that Bjorn was exceptionally good-looking, just like Ubbe was too. Hvitserk was somehow still in his awkward phase but soon he would leave his cocoon too and emerge as a handsome young man. Still, Bjorn was different. He was the type of guy that one would expect on the cover of a fashion magazine and the way he looked right now in his expensive dark suit that was custom-tailored just for him and in his expensive Italian leather shoes, he might as well be a fashion model and not the deputy CEO of his father’s company.

Ivar had often envied his brothers. He had often been jealous of them. Never more so than right now. Bjorn only needed to smile and the women would fall to his feet. Ubbe had this boyish charm that the ladies seemed to like and a kindness that people tended to be attracted to. Even Hvitserk had had a few girlfriends before and Sigurd too had not had a shortage of girls crushing on him. It was no surprise that Ivar couldn't get any girls to like him. Every time he had tried to approach a girl in the past, they had laughed behind his back. Even Freydis. His first date ever with a girl and then it turned out to have been a dare from her girlfriends. He had overheard her talking to a friend of hers afterward, telling them how she was afraid and creeped out by him. He was, apparently, the ugly duckling, the freak. And now … Well … His brothers would go on to marry and have families and he would be left behind in the dust. Poor Ivar. Poor, strange, sick, disabled, crippled Ivar.

“So?” Suddenly, Bjorn’s hand was on his shoulder. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that you are a bit overdressed for the occasion, but who am I to judge? I’m wearing sweatpants outside the house and a sweatshirt that has a ketchup stain on it somewhere because Hvitserk couldn't be bothered to hand me a clean one. Which reminds me that we should really find a new housekeeper because we are clearly not capable of cleaning up after our sorry asses.”

“About the wheelchair, Ivar.” Bjorn snorted and carefully smacked the back of his head. “You didn't even listen to what we were talking about, did you?”

“I didn't think you wanted my opinion since you clearly acted like I wasn’t even here.” Ivar shrugged and glared at his brother. He had learned early in his life that he had to voice his opinion no matter how uncomfortable that might be for everyone involved, that he had to go head to head with his brothers, that he couldn't possibly cower before them if he wanted to get anywhere in life or if he wanted to be taken seriously by his family. That was why people didn't like him. They said that he was always starting fights. He just said what he thought. He was honest. People, however, didn't like honesty, didn't _want_ honesty. 

Bjorn pinched his lips into a tight line but then he held his hands up in surrender and let out a defeated sigh. There. He had done it again. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?”

“Yes. We talked like you weren't here even though you are the person this is all about. So, let’s hear what you have to say.”

He was speechless and it probably showed as he gaped at Bjorn like a fish. “I don't really know what there is to discuss about wheelchairs. It's a chair with two wheels. I need one. End of discussion.”

“Oh, but there is much more to be considered when choosing the right fit!” The woman smiled, her attention now on Ivar for her sales pitch. She was pretty and young and exactly the kind of girl that wouldn't look twice at him. She probably only looked at him now because of Bjorn. He had been there before. Sometimes Bjorn had brought a nice girl home and she had then spent time with Ivar and played with him to make Bjorn like her more. He had not understood that back then, though. He had been too young and naive to realize that it was just a tactic to get his brother’s attention.

“Okay, first thing about how to find the right fit for you. It's simple. You want to find the right widths of the chair so you can sit in it comfortably and actually fit in it. For example, the wheelchair you are in right now is too wide for you. You have about ten to fifteen centimeters extra space that you don't need. Of course, the chair shouldn't be too narrow either otherwise it might cause circulation problems and skin breakdown. If the chair is too wide, like yours is right now, you will have a much harder time maneuvering it around by yourself. The next important thing is the height of the chair.”

It was all downhill from there. Ivar felt like the woman was talking for hours and hours about all kinds of things that made out the perfect wheelchair for his fit. After that, she started taking measurements, asking about his height, measured the widths of his hips - Bjorn had to hold him up for that so she could get the measuring tape around him properly. It seemed to take forever until she presented him with a model that was the right size for him. By the end of it, he was exhausted. He just wanted to go home, hide in his bed, and sleep forever.

Sadly, the lady wasn’t done yet. After this whole ordeal, she left the brothers shortly before returning with a wheelchair to them. “So do you want to test it out?” She smiled and Bjorn echoed that same encouraging smile while Ivar just felt a pit in his stomach - or rather, as if his entire world came crashing down on him. It was stupid, of course. He had known that he would be sitting in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He had come here with Bjorn to get it done. He was sitting in a wheelchair right now. However, seeing _his_ wheelchair … That was different. 

“Hey,” Bjorn was at his side all of a sudden. No, not at his side, in front of him, on the ground, crouching by Ivar’s feet and staring up at him with a grimace of concern. When did that happen? “Hey … what's wrong? Are you in pain? Should I get some of the morphine?”

“No,” His voice sounded weak to his own ears. only then he realized that tears were streaming down his face. Fuck. “No … No I’m fine.”

“That's normal,” The woman said gently. “Many of the people who come here for the first time get overwhelmed. It's … overwhelming. Your life has changed forever. You are allowed to be overwhelmed by that.”

“What the fuck do you know?” He hissed at her, spitting fire and venom. “You have no fucking idea what I am going through right now so don't fucking pretend you would know!”

“Ivar!” Bjorn scolded with hard eyes and an even harder voice. “Stop it. Don't lash out just because you are angry and afraid. It's not her fault.”

“No! It's my fault, I know that!” Ivar shot back at his brother. “I fucking know that it's my own fault! I fucking know that I deserve this! So, don't you dare pity me now or act as if it wasn’t so!”

Before he knew or understood what was happening, Bjorn had pulled him forward and into his arms. He could feel Bjorn’s hand on the back of his head, holding him in place, keeping him close and hindering him from removing himself from the embrace. He held him there whether Ivar liked it or not and for the first time, Ivar didn't even know what it was that he wanted.

※※※※※※※

The house was silent as Ubbe returned after nightfall. After he had escaped from Margrethe’s home, he had driven around aimlessly for quite some time until he had driven to the office instead. This way, he had thought, something good would come from all the madness he had been involved in in the past twenty-four hours. 

As he now walked back into the house, however, he harbored no illusions about the fact that his brothers were around somewhere, though. It was the weekend. Even Bjorn would be here. He had taken quite a lot of time off of work in the past four weeks. Of course, their uncle had been generous and understanding in the matter. As much as he could, Bjorn had worked from home or at the hospital to make up for the time he had missed at the office. The family business was ever-expanding, after all, and their uncle needed Bjorn at the company as his right-hand man now more than ever. Their uncle even needed _him_ at the company as often as Ubbe could be there. Compared to Bjorn, however, he was still wet behind the ears and probably not nearly as big of a help as Bjorn was.

 _“Of all your brothers,” -_ His uncle had told him earlier - _“You are the only one with a proper sense of diplomacy. You might still have much to learn but at least I can trust in your ability to arbitrate arguments before they can get too heated. You will be a great help to your brother during the upcoming negotiations with Japan.”_

He couldn't deny that his chest had swelled with pride at the praise. He had always preened under praise. He knew that Hvitserk was his uncle’s favorite because Hvitserk was the most similar to Rollo. He knew that Ivar had been his mother and Floki’s favorite - maybe even their father’s. He knew that Bjorn had enjoyed Sigurd’s company a lot. And he? Sometimes it seemed that he wasn’t anyone’s favorite. He wasn’t as smart as Ivar or as strong as Bjorn. He wasn’t as creative as Sigurd or as funny as Hvitserk. He was just Ubbe. The second son. Plain old boring Ubbe. The peacemaker. The reliable one that always cleaned up the mess for everyone.

“Ubbe?” A voice suddenly called out from the living room and as he walked over to the open doorway, he found his brother Ivar on the floor. Worry twisted his stomach into knots as he saw him like that and his first instinct was to rush to his side and help him up onto the couch. Their fight from last night, however, was still present in his mind and thus he didn't dare and instead stopped himself in the doorway. 

“Hey … What are you doing on the floor?”

“Where have you been?” Ivar asked instead of answering his question. He sounded affronted that Ubbe hadn't disclosed his whereabouts. Before the accident, it had been normal that Hvitserk and he would come and go as they pleased. They were adults, after all. Everything had changed since the accident. “Have you just come back?” Ivar pointed clumsily at the thick coat that Ubbe was still wearing over yesterday’s clothes.

“I was … working and … yeah.”

“I was worried.” Ivar suddenly confessed completely out of the blue. The only light in the living room came from the TV where some odd hair-dryer commercial was running but even in that light, he could see the puffiness to Ivar’s face. “When you didn't come home.” Ivar didn't need to say anything else. It was more than enough for Ubbe to understand. For a second, Ubbe hesitated, unsure of what to do but then he glanced back to the door he just came through. 

“Hey … do you want to look at the stars?”

“What?”

“Just like when we were little,” Ubbe said quietly. “Just … for a few minutes.”

“Bjorn wouldn't like that.”

“Yeah, then better get going now before he finds out.” Ubbe laughed. He could tell by the way Ivar’s gaze wandered through the room as if looking for some excuse or argument against Ubbe’s idea that he had won. A few minutes later, they were sitting outside on the back porch. He had carried his brother outside, amazed how much weight Ivar had lost during the four weeks at the hospital. He had never been on the heavy side - not to Ubbe, at least, but right now he was much too thin for his taste. He had drowned his little brother in blankets before sitting down next to him with two bottles of beer from their fridge. Ivar seemed reluctant to drink, though.

“I remember when we were little. You were four years old, I think. It was during Christmas.” Ubbe said quietly as he took a sip from his beer. “Mom and Dad got into a huge fight about you. We were sliding outside in the snow - on the hill. Mom was … she was keeping you away from us. She was keeping you to herself, coddling you, cuddling with you. You were always by her side, always in her arms. I remember thinking that you didn't seem to like it. You looked like a doll, half the time, like a toy in her arms. I remember thinking that Mom should just allow you to play with us. And then Dad said the same thing. He argued with her that she was treating you like a sick child and that you would never be a ‘normal boy’ if she wouldn't let you do normal things. And she shrieked that you just weren't normal. I didn't get it, at the time. I thought she was crazy. And I was so angry...” 

He took another sip of his beer and gazed up at the starry sky above Kattegat. Out here, the light pollution was not nearly as bad as in the bigger cities but the night sky above Kattegat was nothing compared to being in the mountains. 

“I was angry at you.” He then continued. “I thought ‘Mom and Dad are fighting because of Ivar’. I thought ‘Mom and Dad are fighting over Ivar’. And I thought that … Mom never had any time for any of us anymore since you were born. I think that was why Sigurd always tried to goad you into fights. I mean … he wasn’t even three yet when you were born and Mom barely had time for him. She hired a nanny instead. She had hired nannies for all of us. But not for you. Never for you. She raised you herself. And I thought that this was unfair, you know? I thought it meant that she didn't love us the same way she loved you. I thought ‘What did I do wrong that Mom doesn’t want to raise me herself?’. For a time, I hated you … but on that Christmas, I realized that you didn't like it either. She put you away into your room or into your bed when she wanted to go out or watch TV or do whatever else she enjoyed. I remember … whenever this guy, Harbard, appeared … she ignored you just like she ignored us - just with the exception that you were helpless without her. She put you away like a precious doll and took you out of your room when she wanted to play with you. Ever since I realized that … I couldn't get angry at you anymore.”

"Why not?" His brother’s voice was more silent than he was used to from Ivar. Ivar, who was always so full of fire and aggression. 

"Because … Before that, I thought that Mom only loved you out of the four of us. Then I realized that this was not true. Mom didn't love you either.” He paused, the bottle raised to his lips again before he lowered it and continued talking instead. “I mean, maybe she loved us … in her own way. Whatever that means.” He chuckled. “However, when I first realized these things, I also grew aware of how horrible Hvitserk and Sigurd sometimes treated you and how hard Dad was on you because he was frustrated when you couldn't do the things we did. That Christmas I thought for the first time in my life that you had no one in your corner. So, I decided that I would be the one in your corner then. Always. If no one else really cared about you and loved you, then I would."

Ivar seemed speechless for a moment only to lean his head on Ubbe’s shoulder a moment later. It was a tender moment and he was glad that none of the other idiots were around. He loved his brothers dearly - all of them. Still, Ivar only ever allowed himself to be vulnerable and soft when they were alone. Sigurd had sometimes joked that Ivar was the antichrist, that he must be Satan himself. Most people only saw his rough and sharp edges but Ubbe knew that his brother had a tender heart - one that Ivar protected with thick walls and a razor-sharp tongue.

"I always loved you best, Ubbe." Ivar sighed. "You coddled me and that drove me insane but … you were always the one person who didn’t treat me like a sick person all the time. That's why I got so angry last night … I don't want to be treated like that … I don't want pity."

Something about the way Ivar said those words reminded Ubbe just how young his little brother still was. It reminded him of the child Ivar used to be. The child who had been desperate to play with his brothers and to be included by them. He remembered him wobbling about on unsteady legs just to play with them. Everything they did, Ivar had wanted to do as well. Everywhere Ubbe went, Ivar had wanted to go too.

“I don't pity you,” Ubbe replied and emptied his bottle while Ivar was still nursing his. He put his arm around his shoulders and bonked his head against Ivar’s. “I don't. I just … hate to see you in pain. I feel like I failed you as your big brother.”

“You didn't.” Ivar finally took a gulp of his beer and pulled a face. Sixteen, Ubbe reminded himself again. He was only sixteen. “Not to brag or anything … but I cried like a baby today at the wheelchair place. Bjorn had to get me back to the car and I was still bawling. It was so fucking embarrassing!”

Ubbe couldn't help the barking laughter escaping his throat, even as Ivar leveled him with a glare. Ubbe, however, only pulled him closer and pressed a kiss into Ivar’s hair.

“I wish I had seen that.”

※※※※※※※

It was early. Way too early. That seemed to become a theme lately and Hvitserk didn't appreciate it much. Ever since Ivar had returned home, three weeks ago now, it seemed that Hvitserk would wake up early every other day and he hated it. Long gone seemed the days that Hvitserk had last enjoyed sleeping in. So, anyone would understand that Hvitserk was not in the best mood when he walked downstairs this morning. It was still dark outside, after all. His alarm clock had screamed 4 AM at him when he opened his eyes with a groan. 

Noise from downstairs had woken him up. His first thought was that it was an intruder and that Ivar would be helpless downstairs if some armed robber would come across his disabled brother. But then he had relaxed against his mattress again. They had a very good alarm system, after all. And even if there would be a burglar, Ivar had never been helpless. Even in the handicapped state he was in, he would be able to bash someone’s head in. The next thing that had gone through his mind was that Ivar might be having troubles getting into the bathroom again but by now his bathroom had been finally modified to his needs and thus he should be golden. The doors were wider and soon all the other doors downstairs would be adjusted as well. Bjorn had hired the best people for the job. When the noise hadn't ceased, Hvitserk had gotten out of bed and had left his room with growing frustration.

Following the sounds, he was led to the kitchen. He smelled Ivar before he saw him on the ground. That in and of itself was an issue lately. Ivar was home for three weeks now and shortly after he had come home, he had started spiraling out of control. He didn't take care of himself anymore as he used to. Ivar had always been very clean and had always taken great care of himself and his appearance. But now he wouldn't shower, he wouldn't change his clothes, he wouldn't even eat anything. Every night Ubbe would call Ivar for dinner, every night he would be met with silence. Every night Ubbe would put a tray outside of Ivar’s room, every morning it would still be untouched. He wasn’t eating and he only drank from the faucet in his bathroom. At least that was what Hvitserk was hoping. 

It was normal. That was what Hvitserk had read online, at least. Sometimes people who had suffered a great loss or had been in an accident and were left paralyzed struggled with depression and sometimes they would just allow themselves to wither away just like Ivar was doing now. He had been thin after he had returned from the hospital but now, as Hvitserk switched on the bright light inside the kitchen, he was almost skeletal at first glance. He was just a shadow of his former self, a husk, an empty shell. And the stench … Hvitserk couldn't help the grimace that distorted his face. 

“Jesus, Ivar!” He addressed his little brother in a hiss. “What are you doing?” The kitchen was a mess. Cupboards were ripped open, a drawer was lying on the ground, the fridge was wide open, a jug of orange juice had spilled all over the tiles, a few eggs were broken on the floor and various other items were strewn all across the kitchen. Ivar looked a mess. His clothes were dirty, his hair greasy, his skin oily and ashen. His brother, however, just glared at him. He looked more like a feral dog than anything.

“Go away, Hvitserk!” He growled. “Leave me be!”

“Are you kidding me?” Hvitserk shot back, anger rising inside his chest easily. “Look at the fucking mess you made and you tell me to leave? What the fucking hell, man?”

“I was just hungry!”

“Yeah, I bet you were!” He scoffed. “Then why didn't you just come out of your cave to have dinner with us? Why didn't you ask someone to help you?”

“I don't need your fucking help! I can do it myself!”

“Oh, so that's why the kitchen looks like a bomb just went off! Look at yourself, Ivar! You are a fucking mess! You stink, you are dirty, you are - covered in orange juice and egg! Fuck, Ivar! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“That's none of your fucking business!” Ivar actually had the audacity to throw the bag of toast at him that was lying on the ground.

“Yes, it is!” He yelled back. “I am your loving brother! And I am frankly fucking tired of your smell and of your moody attitude! Get over yourself, Ivar!”

Once more, his brother took the next best thing he could reach and threw it. This time, however, Ivar actually hit him straight in the face with a pack of cookies. Pain exploded in his face and the package fell to the ground innocently while blood came streaming out of Hvitserk’s nose. 

“Okay that's it, you little demon spawn!” He hissed. 

Hvitserk had always been stronger than Ivar and his brother’s lifestyle as of late wouldn't protect him from Hvitserk either. Before Ivar could do anything about it, Hvitserk had already hoisted his brother up and thrown him over his shoulder. He half expected Ivar to hit him but instead, he was just yelling at the top of his lungs to be put down again as he finally did hit Hvitserk’s back as hard as he could with his good hand. Hvitserk, however, was a man on a mission and he was just as stubborn as all the other assholes in this family. The more Ivar struggled against him, the quicker Hvitserk walked through the house. Ivar could probably tell where they were headed even before Hvitserk opened the door to the back porch.

The winter cold punched Hvitserk square in the face but he didn't care as he carried his brother outside. He didn't even care that he was walking through the snow on bare feet or that Ivar was shrieking by now and threatening to kill him. Hvitserk just kept on walking until he reached the gardening shed. He all but dumped his baby brother in the snow and before Ivar could even try to escape, Hvitserk had already grabbed the garden hose, turned the water on, and directed the water-jet on Ivar without mercy.

Maybe it was cruel what he was doing. Maybe it was downright wrong. Hvitserk wouldn't even deny that he was a horrible person for hosing his brother down like a dog in the middle of winter outside in the snow. He knew that soon Bjorn and Ubbe would come barrelling out of the house because of the commotion. He also knew that his brother Ivar needed someone who was cruel and hard on him. All this coddling Ubbe did or the understanding quietness of Bjorn didn't help their brother. 

“Stop it!” Ivar yelled and tried to escape the water but Hvitserk was relentless. “Stop it, Hvitserk! Fuck!” Was this a sob? Was his baby brother actually crying? Before Hvitserk could check, the inevitable was already happening.

“What the hell Hvitserk?” Bjorn’s bark ripped through the nightly silence as he came running like one of the four horsemen. Thank God they didn't have any neighbors. “What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy? Leave him alone!”

Ubbe was at his side before Hvitserk even looked in the direction of his brothers. He ripped the hose from Hvitserk’s hands, threw it to the side, and turned off the water. Hvitserk half expected Ubbe to punch him. “Fucking Hell, Hvitserk!” He breathed. “What the fuck were you thinking?” His brother was pointing a trembling finger at their brother on the ground as if to drive home his point. And wasn’t it a pitiful sight to behold? Ivar was sitting in the snow, drenched in water, shivering from the cold, with tears streaming down his face.

There was a pinch of guilt in the pit of his stomach as he looked down at his brother like this. Maybe he had actually gone too far this time, Hvitserk thought briefly as Bjorn was already picking Ivar up and carried him back into the house, muttering something about getting him warm again. Ubbe, for once, obviously thought that he had gone too far as he smacked him in the back of his head harder than he usually would. 

“What the fuck, Hvitserk?” He growled as Hvitserk turned to face him. Only now he started to feel the cold seep into his body. He was barefoot, after all. “Let's get back inside,” Ubbe sighed. “And then you explain to me what you just did and why.”

Hivtserk had no other choice but to follow his brother back inside. By the time they walked back into the kitchen, his feet were freezing cold. Yeah, served him right, he thought bitterly. “Before you ask, I found the kitchen like this. Ivar apparently decided it was about time to redecorate.”

“And that's what made you drag him outside and hose him down like a dog?”

“He threw shit at me!” Hvitserk pointed at his bloody nose. “You should have seen him! He went absolutely nuts! Listen, Ubbe, you and Bjorn being soft on him doesn’t help him, okay? He locked himself in his room for three weeks and you guys allowed him to waste away like this because you didn't want to pressure him or because you didn't want to be too harsh on him! Newsflash, Ubbe, you being soft made it worse!”

“No, it's just” Ubbe sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “He is in pain, Hvitserk. He’s hurting. He’s blaming himself for the accident, for Sigurd’s death, for sitting in a wheelchair. Him locking himself in his room for three weeks was nothing but self-punishment.”

“It _was_ his fault,” Hvitserk countered sternly. “And it doesn't help him to deal with that fact if you guys pretend that it wasn't. And how could you be okay with him punishing himself like this? Isn't that worse than what I have done?”

Ubbe was silent for a moment before his brother walked over to pick up the box of cookies that had nearly broken Hvitserk’s nose. “Let's clean this mess up.” He decided quietly instead of answering his question. Ubbe knew he was right. He didn't need to say anything. “And then we will have breakfast together … all four of us like a proper fucking family.”

About an hour later they were all sitting around the kitchen table. The kitchen was decently clean again, the smell of bacon and eggs was wafting through the room, and Ivar was also squeaky clean again, even though he didn't look any less rotten than earlier. His eyes were sunken in, he had dark circles for miles, his lips were brittle and dryer than the Sahara desert, he looked gaunt and was silently pushing his food around on his plate. The scratching sound of the fork against the porcelain grated on Hvitserk’s nerves.

“You have to eat,” Ubbe said for what felt like the hundredth time. He sounded incredibly tired. “Ivar … you need to eat. You can't continue like this.”

Ivar remained silent for the longest time, just continuing to push his food around. Neither one of them felt particularly hungry right now. In fact, all of their plates were untouched so far. The food had long gone cold. Hvitserk couldn't deny that it hurt to see Ivar like this, that it was painful to sit here in silence. Sigurd’s absence from the table had never been more glaring. He would have already goaded Ivar into an argument or done something to lighten the mood. It felt a little like it had after Ragnar’s death, when the shock had been heavy on all of their minds. It was a feeling of dread and a deep sense of loss taking hold of Hvitserk while he sat there and watched, almost hypnotized, how Ivar was pushing his food around.

“Ivar,” Ubbe said yet again like a broken record. “You need to-”

“I killed Sigurd,” Ivar said out of the blue. His voice was hoarse and raw, his eyes remained downcast but he stopped the scraping motion at last. Instead, he dropped the fork on his plate, his shoulders fell and he allowed the emotion to bubble to the surface in the form of a trembling lip. “I killed Sigurd…”

When the tears finally spilled, Hvitserk took his brother’s hand in his and squeezed it hard. He refused to look at his other two brothers. He knew that they were feeling the same thing he did. He knew he would see the same tears on their faces he himself was shedding.

**-End of Chapter 7-**


	8. dreams

Sitting around staring out of the window or watching TV seemed to be the only thing he was able to do nowadays. He couldn't go back to school yet. He wouldn't go back to school. He couldn't even stand the thought of going back to school right now. Bjorn said that he would hire a tutor for him to homeschool Ivar for his last two years until graduation. He was fine with that. He had been homeschooled before, after all, and had always thrived under the attention of a tutor. 

His mom hadn't wanted him to go to school when he was little. It was too dangerous, she had always said, unwilling to take her claws out of him. Maybe she had been right about that. It wasn't the danger that he feared, though. In fact, he embraced the danger. It was the other kids he feared. It was Sigurd’s friends he feared. It was the people that had invited the brothers to their party he feared. Well, they had invited Sigurd and since Ivar had been standing right next to him, they had extended the invitation to him as well just to be polite. Ivar, that much was true, didn't have any friends at school. People would look at him with unbridled rage because everyone probably knew that Sigurd had been in no condition to drive that car. Everyone knew that Sigurd would have slept over at the house if it hadn't been for Ivar causing trouble like he always did. Even if Sigurd’s friend didn't already suspect Ivar to have driven the car, in their eyes, he was still at fault for the accident. 

He was afraid of going to school, maneuvering around the building in his wheelchair, feeling looks of pity on him, being blamed for everything as if he wasn’t blaming himself enough already. He hadn’t been wanted at that party in the first place. Once more, he had been a leech on his brother’s back. And if he, for once, would have stayed down and swallowed his pride, Sigurd would still be alive and annoyingly excited about leaving for America. Right now Ivar could be annoying his older brother, loafing around in his room, touching his stuff without consent, eating Sigurd’s candy, and making himself a nuisance.

Bjorn said that he still had time to think about all of that. His new tutor wouldn't start working with him before the end of the month. Bjorn wanted to give him time. Bjorn … always so fucking understanding. It had felt good, the way Hvitserk had treated him last night. Sure, he had been scared of his brother, he had been miserable and cold but it had felt good. Finally, he thought, someone had not been understanding with him. Finally, someone had not been gentle and loving with him. Hvitserk was just as hot-headed as he was and Hvitserk had been full of rage last night. He knew that Ubbe and Bjorn were just as angry with him but they didn't show it. They thought that he was going through enough already without them blaming him. But he wanted to be blamed. He wanted them to be angry with him. 

He watched the snow fall outside the living room window and wondered when it would stop snowing to make room for spring to come. The house was loud with the noise the construction workers produced as they took apart his childhood home to accommodate him and his _needs_. He was trying to hide away from them in the open plan living room but sometimes someone would walk past the living room and cast a pitiful glance at him. He couldn't stand it. It burned his skin. So, he just pulled the hood of the black hoodie he was wearing over his head as if this way he would be invisible. It had been a little tight before the accident but now he was drowning in it it seemed. His reflection stared back at him. He looked horrible. He knew that. He didn't need his brothers to tell him. He looked like a fucking zombie.

The sound of the front door opening made him raise his eyebrows. It was too early for Bjorn ur Ubbe to return. Maybe it was Hvitserk. His brother had stayed home with him, not willing to face the adult world today. He had gone out for groceries earlier after Ivar had destroyed so much of their supplies last night. He felt stupid. He felt as if he had thrown a temper tantrum like a toddler. So, he tried not to listen to the footfalls that followed the sound of the front door even as the steps were moving into the living room and towards him.

“Ivar,” A familiar voice called out softly. “My boy. You look as if a bear has eaten you and shat you back out again.”

“It's very sweet of you to drag your crazy arse all the way here just to visit me, Floki.”

“What makes you think that I want anything from you, you miserable, crippled, little goblin.”

“Bold words coming from a spindly-legged, knock-kneed boat-builder who has no other friends than a miserable, crippled, little goblin like myself.”

“It's nice to see how much you’ve matured since the accident.”

“Matured? What, you think I want to be an old fool like you?”

“The way you behave, dear Ivar, you’ll never get the chance.”

He looked at Floki at last and could see that spark of mischief in his eyes that Ivar had always loved so much. For some reason, Floki and he had always been two peas in a pot. Floki was his father’s oldest and, arguably, best friend and he had taken on the role of Ivar’s unofficial guardian early on. He remembered that Floki had once made a wooden horse for him so he could play on it inside his room. He had even built a bed shaped like a Viking boat for him when he was little, so that Ivar could pretend to be a pirate or a strong Viking warrior when he would sleep in it and sail into the lands of dreams. Floki’s own daughter was the same age as him and they had played together from time to time but, really, Ivar had rather spent his time with Floki instead, listening to the stories he would tell him - stories about the old gods and about the Vikings. As he looked at Floki now, there was no pity in his eyes. He looked at him as if nothing had changed, full of warmth and love - but not like his brothers would. Floki saw his mistakes and he was acknowledging them. Fuck … Floki was more of a father to Ivar than Ragnar had ever been.

He couldn't help the watery smile that was breaking out on his face and before he knew it, Floki was at his side on the sofa and dragged him into a crushing embrace, growling with joy that he could hold him in his arms before he cupped his face to take a good look at him. He didn't comment on the state he was in, though. Not more than he already had. 

“I miss my old bed,” Ivar said out of the blue, hit by a sudden wave of nostalgia, and surprised himself with these words. “You know … the one you built me. I loved that bed.”

“One of my finest works!” Floki nodded and squeezed his shoulder. “I could build you another one.”

“Ubbe would get a heart attack,” Ivar scoffed. “He’s getting worse than Mom ever was by the minute.”

“He’s just worried,” Floki hummed and relaxed back into the sofa cushions. “Actually, Ubbe being worried is what brought me here, dear Ivar.”

“What do you mean?”

“He called me earlier - told me about what happened last night with you and Hvitserk.” Of course, Ubbe, that traitor, would do such a thing. He should bite him in the leg, the first chance he got. 

“It was nothing.”

“It didn't sound like nothing.” Floki chuckled. “It sounded like Hvitserk lost his patience with you and went berserk.”

“I wouldn't go that far.”

“I would,” Floki smirked. 

“I’m glad he did it.” Ivar then confessed quietly. There had never been any secrets between him and Floki. There was no need for secrets between him and Floki. “I am so tired of Ubbe and Bjorn treating me with kiddy gloves.”

“They mean well.” But before Ivar could shoot him down, Floki grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed carefully. “But since I know you, you little demon spawn, I know that you hate nothing more.”

“I just wished they would just talk about it - honestly. They hardly ever talk about SIgurd or the accident. They never confront me about it. I think they think I will fall apart if they ask me about that night. It's like Mom is back, treating me like that … china cup of a person.” The words came out harsher than he intended and his eyes were already stinging again. Maybe his brothers were right to treat him like a porcelain doll the amount of crying he did lately. “I killed Sigurd and they don't even acknowledge it. I know they are angry, I know they hate me for it but they don't talk about it. I feel like I am suffocating when I am around them because I can't talk about it-” He couldn't continue speaking. His throat was constricting with sobs he didn't want to let out. Floki pulled him into his arms once more without saying anything. He just held him close, allowed Ivar to cry into his shoulder as if he was still that little boy he had told stories to and played with. “My heart is broken...” He sobbed at last.

“It will repair,” Floki whispered, and, for once, Ivar wanted to believe him.

※※※※※※※

“I don't understand why you keep slaving away in Dad’s company,” Ivar addressed him as Ubbe was fighting his way through traffic with his baby brother in the passenger’s seat and his wheelchair in the trunk. “You don't even like the work. You never wanted to join the company. You always wanted to have your own farm somewhere in the mountains and herd sheep or something.”

“I’m an adult now, Ivar,” Ubbe replied calmly. “And when you become an adult, you realize that sometimes your dreams are just that - dreams. Dad would have wanted me to work for the company and have Bjorn’s back. It was Dad’s life’s work. It's the right thing to do.”

“But it's not what you _want_ to do.” Ivar sighed. “Don't you think Dad would want you to find your own path?”

“This company was Dad’s dream. I won’t let that die, okay? You’ll understand when you get older.”

“I’m old enough to know that this is bullshit. And I also know that Hvitserk is on his way to do the same stupid shit because Hvitserk always does what you do. Let's be honest, our dear brother is not the sharpest tool in the toolbox and he follows you around like a loyal dog. One day both of you will wake up and realize that you wasted your lives living our father’s dreams while your dreams fell to the wayside and then it will be too late and you guys will be a bunch of miserable losers. I am not going to deal with that.”

“I am glad that I have you and your words of wisdom to guide me, Ivar.” Ubbe chuckled and reached over to smack the back of Ivar’s head. “But since you are so wise, tell me what you want to do with your life - assuming that joining the company is not it.”

“It definitely is not it.” Ivar groaned. “I don't know yet.”

“You should think about it then. You're sixteen. You will graduate in two years. You should know what you want now.”

“Maybe I’ll live in the mountains like a hermit and keep a bunch of sheep.”

“You are not patient enough to do that.”

“Good point. Then what do you suggest I’d do?”

“I think you should work with Floki.”

“What?”

“I mean you always looked up to him and you are good with your hands. Why not learn the craft? There are only a handful of people like Floki all over the world who still know how to do those things. Wouldn't it be cool to follow in his footsteps? Restoring ancient furniture, restoring ancient boats?”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Ivar said. “A cripple like me. I would never be able to do it.”

“Not with that attitude.” They were driving into the busy city center of Kattegat where it was always a nightmare to find a proper parking spot. The funeral home was not too far away but Ubbe would rather not think about that. Instead, he took a left turn into a quieter, narrow street and found the location his navigation system had directed him to. He parked his car in one of the rare parking spots at the side of the street, hoping that he would not get a fine for parking in the handicapped spot - after all, he was driving around a handicapped person - and turned off the ignition. 

“Here we are,” He sighed.

“I still think it's useless and dumb.”

“You think that about most things, though. You thought that about the new waffle iron I bought last year - the Star Wars one, remember? - and then you were the one who was constantly using it.” Ivar rolled his eyes and unbuckled his seatbelt without another word. By now both Ivar and Ubbe were a little more practiced when it came to getting Ivar out of the car and into his brand new wheelchair. It took them only two minutes to get everything done and ready before Ubbe locked the car and maneuvered Ivar to the door of the physiotherapy practice that was waiting for them a few steps away from the car. The doors slid open as the brothers approached. Someone had taken quite a lot of money into their hands to modernize the old building in the historic town center of Kattegat. Now behind the heavy stone facade, a nice, light, airy, modern setting waited for the patients. Calm music wafted through the air and Ivar groaned, muttering something about ‘new age hippy bullshit music’ under his breath. Ubbe suppressed the urge to smack him over the head again for being so fucking rude already.

“You must be Ivar Ragnarsson,” A baritone voice with a quite heavy British accent addressed them. “This _new age hippie bullshit music_ might be offensive to your ears but it does wonders for the relaxation of my patients. I’m sure you will agree later today.” Ubbe couldn't suppress a snicker as he turned to face the owner of the practice, a tall man with short dark hair, a well-groomed goatee, and just the right amount of five-o-clock-stubble going on, as he came walking around the corner and into the lobby. He had eyes like a hawk as he looked at the brothers.

Ubbe could almost see the cogs turning in his baby brother’s head at all of this. He could see the sparkle in his brother’s eyes that he would always have when he found something that interested him or if he was facing a new challenge. Remembering his manners, Ubbe quickly turned towards the man and extended his hand to him as he was close enough. 

“Ubbe,” He introduced himself with a friendly smile, and the man reciprocated in much the same manner, introducing himself as Heahmund. 

“You are his older brother, I assume. We talked on the phone?”

“I would say I am his handler most of the time but yes, ‘older brother’ fits the crime.” Ivar rolled his eyes at that. “Okay … so … I’m gonna … let you guys handle it from here. I’ll be back in an hour?”

“Very well,” Heahmund hummed. For some reason, Ubbe felt very reluctant to leave his baby brother in the care of this stranger. It was irrational and stupid, of course, but he felt like this ever since the accident. Instead of lingering and making it more awkward for everyone involved, Ubbe patted his brother’s shoulder and ruffled his hair before he turned away.

“See you in an hour, try not to burn the place down!” He called over his shoulder before he finally left the practice. He knew that he was behaving like a hovering single mom lately towards Ivar. His brother had always been very independent, always headstrong, and had done his own thing. He couldn't keep babying him. Still, ever since the accident, it was hard for Ubbe not to coddle Ivar. And still, his brother needed to manage himself. He needed to learn how to do things himself now. This, right here, was good. It was progress. Ivar needed to gain back his independence. 

So, Ubbe pulled himself together, got back to his car, and drove off to do some shopping. Yet, despite this plan, Ubbe found his thoughts occupied by Ivar the entire time he was spending in the city. He went back to the practice before the hour was over, in the end, and felt like a complete failure because of it. It seemed ridiculous to him that he was so concerned that he couldn't even leave his brother for an hour. Heavy with self-loathing, Ubbe walked back into the practice. The same ‘new age hippy bullshit music’ was playing softly in the background. There was no one else in the lobby right now. It was late and Ivar the last appointment of the day so the receptionist was probably already gone for the day. Curious, Ubbe walked through the lobby and found a set of doors with different labels on them. _Massages_ , one label red, _ultrasound therapy_ said another one, _cryotherapy_ , _lymphatic drainage, manual therapy_. 

At the end of the hallway, however, he could see a glass door to the gym. He had looked this practice up on the internet, of course, and so he had seen what the gym looked like before. Curiosity got the better of him as he heard voices from inside the gym, though and he risked a glance through the glass door. He was surprised to see his brother sitting in his wheelchair with some wooden staff in his hands doing some weird exercise with it. He could see it on Ivar’s face, though, that he was frustrated. And, of course, it didn't take long until Ivar actually threw the staff.

“This is fucking pointless!” He yelled at Heahmund. “What is that supposed to do anyway?”

“It's supposed to build your strength back up,” Heahmund droned calmly and not impressed in the slightest by Ivar’s outburst. “You let yourself go. We need to start slowly - much slower than I would have liked to but you did this to yourself, Ivar, so fucking deal with it and don't be a baby. Now, get the staff and do as you are told.” 

Ubbe watched his brother bear his teeth at Heahmund like a rabid dog before he painfully maneuvered his wheelchair closer to the staff on the ground. Ivar had not yet enough strength in his arms to actually maneuver himself around for long. He still managed to get to the staff and had to lean down as much as he could to grasp it - only to fall forward and out of the chair. Ivar landed on the ground with a dull thud and a colorful curse.

“Get back in your chair,” Heahmund said but he didn't even try to help him. Ubbe couldn't help it. He barged into the gym without thinking twice about it. 

“What the hell man?” Ubbe shouted as he made his way over to his brother in quick steps. He helped Ivar back into his wheelchair quickly. “Is this your understanding of therapy?” He hissed, all his teeth bared at the dark-haired man in front of him. Heahmund, however, seemed not at all surprised or flustered that he had been caught abusing one of his patients. 

“Your brother has to learn to help himself, Mr. Ragnarsson,” Heahmund said as calm as when Ubbe first met him with the patience of a monk. If Ivar was a thunderstorm over the open sea, Heahmund was a calm mountain lake. “It does him no good if you keep helping him.”

“I don't think abusing him is much help either!” He shot back even though a voice in the back of his head told him that Heahmund was right. He remembered his father’s words. _Ivar needs a hard hand. Ivar needs tough love._ That’s what Ragnar used to say with a twinkle in his eyes before he would give his baby son whatever he wanted anyway. “We’re going!”

※※※※※※※

Bjorn was late as he returned home that day. He had wanted to come earlier and have dinner with his family, to hear how Ivar’s first physiotherapy session had gone but when he returned home, it was already midnight and all the lights were off. He ventured into the kitchen without switching on any light, walked to the fridge, and grabbed a carton of cold take-out food that they had left from two days ago. All things, considered, he should have thrown it away. Instead, he started to wolf it down undignified in his Armani suit in front of the open fridge. It was moments like this when he would remember that deep down he was still a simple man with simple needs.

Over the humming of the fridge and his own eating, he barely heard the sounds coming from the hallway at first but when he did he was suddenly painfully reminded of how it had sounded when his son first started to crawl, his tiny hands smacking into the floor. Only that those hands making these sounds were not tiny and the person crawling towards the kitchen - lured by the smell of food - was not in fact a baby. He turned around to the doorway. The house was dark but thanks to the light from the open fridge, Bjorn could still see his brother Ivar crawl over the ground towards the kitchen. As he reached the kitchen, he reached up as far as he could to switch on the ceiling light.

“What are you doing in the dark?” Ivar addressed him right away. He looked as if he had been in bed but not like he had been sleeping. 

“Raiding the fridge,” Bjorn huffed and held out the box in his hand. “Wanna share?” Ivar made a grimace and shook his head. Suddenly, Bjorn became aware that his brother wouldn't even be able to hoist himself up on a chair. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“Rough day?”

“No … just … I don't know.”

“My brother Ivar doesn’t know what to say? That's a first.”

“Yeah, sure make fun of the cripple.” Ivar huffed. He looked uncomfortable on the ground. Without thinking twice about it, Bjorn closed the fridge, put the box to the side, and helped Ivar onto a chair. For a second, he was twenty-one again and Ivar three, as he grabbed his baby brother under the arms to lift him up onto a chair. The only difference now was that Ivar wouldn't squeal in delight but grunt in annoyance. He sat down opposite him and continued eating the probably spoiled food. Well, he could deal with the repercussions later. Right now he was hungry like a wolf.

“How was your first therapy session today?”

“Well, I didn't get to finish it.” Ivar snorted.

“What do you mean?”

“Ubbe interrupted the session and dragged me back home.”

He paused while eating and just stared at Ivar for a second before he resumed eating. Knowing Ubbe, he would have had a darn good reason to interrupt Ivar’s therapy. “I need you to elaborate.”

And elaborate Ivar did. He told him about Heahmund, about the session and the exercises he had shown Ivar, and how the session lastly ended with Ubbe barging in and putting a stop to all of that. Bjorn couldn't help but feel anger rising inside of him as he tried to imagine the situation with his brother on the ground, unable to actually help himself after he had fallen out of his chair. 

“Good,” He muttered at last and put the now empty container to the side. “We are finding someone else for you.”

“No, you won't.”

“What?”

“Listen … I had time to think about that, Bjorn … Heahmund is right.” Ivar looked at the table and started digging in blunt nails into the grooves of the wood. “It will not help me if you guys keep babying me all the time. It will not help me if you keep treating me like an invalid. I think … the approach Heahmund has … might be helpful.”

Bjorn stared at him dumbfounded but, at last, he nodded. “I’m going to talk to Ubbe,” He promised. “You will resume your therapy with this guy. But if you ever decide that it's not the right fit, tell me and we find someone else.”

Ivar nodded and he noticed how his shoulders seemed to drop in relief. “Bjorn?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you help me with something else?”

“Sure.”

“I want to learn carpentering from Floki … but for that, I need to be able to actually lift anything. Would you … help me work out a bit? You still have those weights in your room, right?”

Bjorn was actually surprised to hear that. Ivar had started working out a year ago after his mother had died. He had started going on runs in the evening, using their dad’s home gym in the basement but he had always refused to actually train with one of his brothers. Bjorn smiled at the question and nodded again.

“Of course,” He grinned. “You’ll see, you will be able to kick this Heahmund-guy’s ass in no time.”

After that, he helped Ivar back into bed and for a moment it again felt like it had when his brother had been little and had not yet had the same inhibitions to show his soft, vulnerable side that Bjorn knew he was hiding deep down inside of him - now more than ever. Bjorn actually fought the urge to tuck his brother in after he had sat him down on the bed. Instead, he wished him a good night, smacked his cheek roughly, and left the room, leaving the door ajar as they all had become used to by now. 

As he walked through the dark house, he felt the urge to call Torvi, ask her to wake up his children so that he could talk to them. Of course, he wouldn't do that. It was almost 1 AM by now, after all, and his kids needed to go to school in the morning. Still, he would call Torvi later and ask her if he could come over this weekend or pick those kids up to do something with them. He missed them dearly but at least Torvi was understanding of him and the situation. It hadn't been easy for him to manage it all since the accident. 

As he walked upstairs to go to bed himself, he felt like he was in dire need of a break or a vacation, anything to get his mind off of things. Walking down the corridor, he noticed light shining from underneath Ubbe’s door. First, he wanted to just ignore it but then he dragged a hand down his face and walked over to Ubbe’s door instead. Ubbe was his little brother too, even though it sometimes didn't feel like it. He didn't have the same bond with Ubbe that he had with Sigurd and Ivar. Both Ubbe and Hvitserk had been a bit older, six and four years old respectively, when Bjorn first really met them, after all, and yet he knew that Ubbe had always seen him as some kind of idol. By now, Ubbe was more like his right-hand man. But that didn't mean that Ubbe wouldn't need his big brother to check in on him from time to time. Ivar was, after all, not the only one in need of help, not the only one hurting and sad.

He knocked at the door before he could overthink everything but, as any good brother would, he didn't wait to be actually allowed in and just opened the door to invade his brother’s personal space. One might think Bjorn would have learned his lesson after walking in on Ubbe having sex with his first girlfriend back in the day or as he caught Hvitserk looking at porn once when the little devil had been barely fifteen. But no. Thankfully, Ubbe was neither naked nor watching porn.

“Still awake?” Bjorn addressed Ubbe as he found his brother lying in bed, reading a book about agriculture. He knew about Ubbe’s dream of becoming a farmer and yet he had never quite understood why his brother had instead gone the same route as Bjorn had. 

“Couldn't sleep.”

“That seems to become a trend tonight.” Even though Bjorn felt like he would be able to sleep for at least ten years. At Ubbe’s confused look, he explained further: “I just talked to Ivar downstairs. He actually told me an interesting story.”

“I can imagine!” Ubbe groaned, his cheeks turning pink. “But listen, you would have done the same thing if you would have seen it! That was no therapy! He let Ivar fall out of his wheelchair and crawl around and wouldn't even help him back into the chair!”

“Hey, calm down, I get it. I would have ripped that guy’s head off. However … Apparently, our dear brother is a masochist because he just told me that he wants to continue with this Heahmund-guy.”

“I am not even surprised,” Ubbe sighed. “The guy is completely weird. I don't know … he’s intense, Man! I just spoke a few words with him but he kinda gave me the creeps.”

“So, you are against it?”

“I don't know,” Ubbe laughed. “He was weird and intense but in the same way that Ivar is weird and intense. He didn't even lose his calm when Ivar threw something at him. Maybe … Maybe he will be good for Ivar.”

“Then it's decided,” Bjorn nodded. He was about to leave before he pointed at the book. “You do know that you are not … that you don't need to work for the company, right? You know that you are not expected to if you don't want to…”

“I know,” Ubbe shrugged. “Farming is just a hobby.” Ubbe was quiet for a second before he put the book away. “Do you sometimes wish that Dad hadn't been as ambitious?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well … don't you ever wonder what life would be like if Dad wouldn't have been so dead-set on making a name for himself and becoming this huge intimidating figure in the world?”

“We would have had a pretty normal life I guess,” Bjorn huffed as he entertained the thought for a second. “You would have grown up in a house much too small for six people. You would have shared a room with Hvitserk, growing up and Ivar would have shared a room with Sigurd - which would have ended in a disaster and possibly in murder.”

Ubbe snorted at the mental image.

“But no … I never really try to imagine it. I mean, what good would it do? I guess I had a pretty normal life with my mom in Hedeby. No private school like you guys. No nannies or housekeepers. It was nice. But I think it's a good thing that Dad was so ambitious. He instilled the same wish in all of us and that will help all of us to get far in life as well. Dad had always desired glory and infamy but he once told me that he actually hoped that, one day, his sons would be even more infamous and well-known than he ever was. Sure, Dad’s ambitions were selfish in many ways. He did all this to further his own notoriety. But, in essence, his ambitions were always for us as well. He wanted us to have a good life and to do even greater things. That was his desire. I’m not gonna lie, Dad could be a selfish prick but he loved us with all his heart, every single one of us. He wasn’t always the best dad, especially the couple of years before his death but he tried. And I remember, shortly before he died, when I was with him, that he forced me to promise him that I would always keep an eye on you guys, always keep you guys safe. Well … I failed him big time, I guess.”

“No, you didn't,” Ubbe sighed. “No one could have known something like this would happen.”

“Come on,” Bjorn sighed. “Yes, we knew. We all knew. I knew from the start it was a bad idea. I felt it in my guts and I still allowed those two morons to go. We all know Ivar. He is impatient and impulsive, he has a temper and he doesn't always think about his actions. He is too smart for his own good and sometimes because he is so smart he thinks that nothing could possibly go wrong for him.”

“For someone as clever as Ivar, he really is a dumbass.”

“Yes,” Bjorn chuckled. “He is at that age now where he thinks that he knows everything already. But he’s still a child, after all.”

“Not your child, though.”

“No,” He breathed. “But he makes me think of Guthrum … I mean, Guthrum is just one year younger than Ivar … It's hard to separate that sometimes. I mean … I have literally a son around the same age. I was there when Ivar was born. I was the first one to hold him - the job of a father. How am I supposed to look at Ivar not in that same way as I look at my son?”

Ubbe hummed in understanding. “Don't ever let him hear that though or he bites your head off.”

**-End of Chapter 8-**


	9. fledgling

_He felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Whenever he closed his eyes, the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him whole._

_“I can't drive,” Sigurd moaned as he leaned against his white Mitsubishi, a gift from Bjorn for his seventeenth birthday. He remembered being jealous of his brother that day. He remembered the radiant smile on Sigurd’s face when he had been led out into the driveway at sunrise, the grass still wet from the dew, and the air chilly. “Really, Ivar … Let's go back and … then you say sorry…”_

_In his drunken head, those words had made absolute sense to Sigurd because Sigurd wasn’t the guy who would always get picked on at school. Sigurd wasn't the guy who didn't have any friends. Sigurd was loved. He was the life of the party. He would take his guitar out or sit down at a piano and people would flock around him. He was an entertainer. Ivar, on the other hand, was that weird creepy guy that people tried to avoid like the plague._

_“No way!” Ivar heard himself laughing and saw himself bending down to pick up the keys that had slipped from Sigurd’s grasp and fallen into the fresh snow. It was snowing quite badly, by now. “I can drive.”_

_He was falling again. Falling, falling, falling but he couldn't tear his eyes open. They were glued shut. His chest was heaving with the strain that breathing put on him. It was as if something was stuck in his throat. He couldn't breathe. A skeleton hand shoved its way inside his mouth and down his throat and a minute later he heard the soft jingle of car keys._

“Ivar!” A voice called out - somewhere in the world outside of his head. “Ivar, wake up!”

“What's wrong?” Another voice asked, heavy with sleep.

“He’s having a nightmare, I think.” 

_The screeching of metal was all he could hear for a second, ripping his eardrums as the car was folding in on itself like an accordion. Glass was shattering, little shards flying everywhere, glistening like diamonds or raindrops in the light from the car’s headlights. He could hear Sigurd’s labored breathing outside of the car. He was still alive when Ivar came back to it. He remembered looking at his brother in the snow. Sigurd’s eyes had been open, searching, finding his little brother still behind the wheel, and then the world had turned black. He was swallowed whole by darkness._ Someone was shaking him and he finally managed to pry open his eyes. He regretted the motion as light was flooding his head - the feeling of dread, however, never left him.

“Ivar, hey...” The voice was scratchy but tried its best to sound soft and warm while addressing him like a spooked animal. _Ubbe_. It could only be Ubbe. When he managed to finally get his senses back under control, he remembered that he had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room again and apparently no one had wanted to move him into his bedroom. As he now slowly blinked to make sense of the world, he found himself confronted with both Ubbe and Hvitserk. Briefly, he wondered if Bjorn had returned home from work yet or if he was still in his dark office at the company, locked away behind mountains of paperwork. He spent almost all his time there lately. 

“Hey...” Ubbe’s voice sounded again and then there was a hand on the side of his face grounding him in reality so that he wouldn't slip away again. 

“What's wrong?” Ivar finally managed to ask, even though his voice was nothing more than a hoarse croak. “What are you doing here?”

“We heard you scream … We thought that you were hurt or something.” Hvitserk. He looked tired and a tired Hvitserk was, usually, a livid Hvitserk.

“It was just a nightmare…” Ivar answered quietly. “I think…”

Before he knew it, Ubbe was sitting next to him with a sigh. The sigh of a man who had been ripped out of a peaceful slumber far too many times in just a couple of weeks. “Tell us about it.”

“You have watched too many chick-flicks with Margrethe.” Ivar rolled his eyes and lightly slapped his brother’s cheek. His heart was still racing inside his chest, his ears ringing from the horrible sound of the screeching metal. “Since the fuck when are we talking about our dreams, Ubbe?”

“I have to side with Ivar on that,” Hvitserk chuckled and patted Ivar’s leg. It was a small mercy that he could still feel his legs at least. 

“So what?” Ubbe sighed. “I mean after everything that happened! Clearly, whatever he dreamed about pains him and maybe that pain would ease if he would talk about it.”

“I’d much rather wouldn’t,” Ivar murmured.

“Well, you spoke in your sleep,” Ubbe then shot back. “You dreamed about the accident, didn't you? About Sigurd?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“A little while ago you were angry that we wouldn't talk about Sigurd or the accident with you and now you don't want to talk about it?” Hvitserk sighed.

“It's not the same.”

“Because you want us to yell and be angry and blame you for everything but not actually talk about what happened?”

“Hvitserk, enough!” Ubbe groaned. Apparently, 2 AM was not the time to have a discussion like this.

“No!” Hvitserk interrupted with fury in his eyes. “Because it's the fucking truth Ubbe and you know it. So, if anger and blame is what you want, fine. Yes, I _do_ blame you for Sigurd’s death, Ivar! _You_ drove the car even though you have no license and you were drunk. But I just as much blame Sigurd because he was the older one and he was responsible for both you and himself. He shouldn't have gotten drunk in the first place. He went there by car and that meant that he shouldn't have touched alcohol in the first place. It is as much Sigurd’s fault as it is yours, Ivar.”

He was stunned by Hvitserk’s words because he hadn't expected something like this from his brother. For a moment, Ivar said nothing but then he cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to his useless legs. “I still see him lying in the snow when I close my eyes,” He said and felt his throat growing tight around the words. “It should have been me … I was nagging him so badly about that party because it was the first time I ever got invited anywhere - even though no one really wanted me there. And all I did was annoy people and, of course, I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. Of course, I just had to get into a fight with one of Sigurd’s friends.” He paused as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Freydis was there too...” He added softly. Maybe it was stupid of him that he had still not gotten over that date with Freydis over a year ago but the memory and hurt had dug their claws deeply into his heart and it still pained him whenever he would see her. 

“She and her friends made fun of me. So I did what I always do. I fought back and behaved like an asshole. If it hadn't been for me, Sigurd would still be here. We wanted to sleep over at the house but because of me, we couldn't. And Sigurd told me - He fucking told me that he was too drunk to drive home! He told me to just go back and apologize to his friend but I was too proud to do so! Instead of apologizing to his friend, I killed my brother! And I can never take that back! And then you guys look at me with so much pity for sitting in a wheelchair but I deserve nothing less and we all know it!”

It was Hvitserk, who sat down on his other side at last and put his arm around him to pull him close. It seemed to be the first time since all this happened that Hvitserk would be hugging him, leaning his head against Ivar’s head. For a moment, they just sat together in silence because there was nothing that could be said right now.

※※※※※※※

When Bjorn walked into the house at the asscrack of dawn, he didn't expect to find his three brothers all huddled together on the big, plush sofa in the living room. It was quite the sight to behold for sure. They were all fast asleep under a mountain of blankets, Ivar leaning heavily against Ubbe’s chest, his ear pressed against his brother’s heart, Hvitserk all but draped over Ivar’s lap. Bjorn paused at the sight and couldn't help but be painfully reminded of a time when everything had still been right between them when his brothers had been little and fallen asleep together during the new year's eve celebrations because they had desperately wanted to stay up until midnight.

He took out his phone and snapped a photo before he could think twice about it or before his brothers could wake up. For a moment, he thought of waking them but then he decided against it and instead crept up the staircase. He needed sleep himself. Desperately. 

※※※※※※※

Sawdust hung in the air as Ivar patiently dragged the sandpaper over the railing of the ancient boat. The sunlight that was streaming in through one of the large windows in Floki’s workshop made the dust particles shimmer like gold and diamonds in the air. The workshop was a huge place filled from one end to the other with the skeletons of old boats and all kinds of antique furniture. A few of the larger objects were hanging from the ceiling suspended by ropes and could easily be lowered down again via a pulley system that Floki had installed. The smell of timber, wood polish, and oils hung heavy in the air. It was warm inside the workshop even though outside the world was still covered underneath a thin blanket of snow. Spring was approaching in large steps now but it was still a long way to go. The accident lay only two months in the past now and yet it still seemed like it happened yesterday. 

“Careful now, my dear Ivar.” Inside the workshop, Floki’s voice was softer than usual as if he was trying not to scare the objects and tools within it. “She is very delicate. We don't want to go too rough on her and upset her in any way. Use smaller, lighter strokes.”

“It will take forever this way!”

“Of course!” Floki sniggered amused by his outcry. “You can’t rush anything when you are restoring such an old lady. It's a miracle that she is still alive.”

“When was she built?” The wood of the longship was still almost in one piece as it sat here in front of him. Centuries of saltwater had built up a patina on the old wood. Floki had already taken care of the algae and sea life that had attached itself to the boat and made it their home but the photos of how it had been found were still hanging all over the walls.

“It's hard to date her accurately. The curator said that she was built somewhere around 800 AD here in Norway - perhaps even here in Kattegat.” Floki said and moved over to the bow where he dragged a calloused finger over the wood inside the ship. “Here. There are runes cut into the wood. It was custom that they would write a poem about the warrior leading the ship into the wood. So, if we manage to get this cleaned up enough to read it, we could tell whose ship that was.”

“You can read runes?”

Floki seemed almost affronted but that twinkle in his eyes never left him. “Of course I can read runes! Ah! All those private tutors and private schools! It's the downfall of our society! A north man who cannot read runes!”

Ivar threw his used piece of sandpaper at the man with a chuckle and tore off a new one. “And how did she get to the museum?”

“She was found in a cave in West Wales. Remarkable, right? By all means, she should not have survived for so long. It's been, what? Over one-thousand-and-two-hundred years by now! And that is exactly why we have to be delicate with her and take care of her. She’s the oldest surviving boat of that time period, certainly the oldest thing I have ever had in my workshop. It's a great honor that the curator came to me for this restoration.”

“I shouldn't be doing this then!” Ivar exclaimed and nearly threw another piece of sandpaper - if not the entire roll - at Floki. “Floki! I mean, come on! What if I break anything?”

“You won’t,” Floki reassured quietly and patted his shoulder. “I’m here and I will guide you. You won't break her or do anything wrong under my guidance and I can see that you are a natural.”

“I am just … sanding this railing … that's hardly difficult.”

“You would be surprised,” Floki laughed. “Learning a trait, Ivar, always starts with learning to perfect the small things. Ask Helga, she can tell you all about it. When she was an apprentice to become a seamstress in our youth, she had to sort buttons all day long for the first two months, after those two months, she moved on to sorting needles. You need to learn to get a feel for the materials you will be using first, get to know your tools, get to know the right techniques. If you know how to sand something and make it nice and smooth, you will be able to do other things as well. Anyone can drill a hole in a plank of wood, dear Ivar. Anyone can swing a hammer and nail something together. It's the details that matter the most - especially when it comes to restoring precious things like her.”

“What do you think, how long will it take you to restore her completely?”

“Oh...” Floki deflated as he let out a deep breath through pursed lips. “At least two years. Maybe five. But that is if I am working alone. I will probably ask one or two colleagues of mine to help with the work - and I have you as my trusty assistant - if you want to.”

“Of course, I want to!”

“I hoped you would say that!” Floki again said with a snigger before he directed Ivar’s hand back to the railing and took his own piece of sandpaper to hand. “Then let's get on with it. And you can tell me all about the progress you are making with your rehab.”

“Heahmund is a dick,” Ivar replied immediately with a lopsided grin. “He makes me do gymnastics most of the time … like … exercises for my back and shoulders and shit. I think he enjoys seeing me suffer. But Bjorn has started to work out with me - whenever he is allowed to actually leave his office that is. I swear to you, he lives there by now. He’s like a cave troll - only that his cave is a multimillion-dollar company and he wears Armani.”

“I think Bjorn just feels guilty.” Floki offered as an explanation with that knowing look that would always freak people who didn't really know him out. “Your brother had to promise your father to always keep you guys safe before he died. Knowing Bjorn - and I do know this boy very well - he blames himself for what happened and for refusing to pick Sigurd and you up before you went to that party. So, he does what your father did whenever he felt guilty about something: he buries himself in his work, tries out new ventures, and tries to grow his business. Bjorn is very much like your father in that aspect. Give him time. He will come around, eventually.”

Ivar looked at Floki but his friend continued to work on the boat. For the longest time, Ivar tried to think of something to say but, in the end, he couldn't come up with anything so he nodded and turned back to his work.

※※※※※※※

Pearls of sweat were running down his temple. He felt stupid that he was sweating buckets while just doing simple stretching exercises for his hips and back like an old lady with osteoporosis. Right now he was leaning forward, trying to meet his toes with his forehead after Heahmund had gotten his feet and legs in the right position for him. 

“What is this even good for?” He groaned after a while as he slowly sat up again. 

“To keep your flexibility up.” Heahmund never seemed to lose his patience and that was driving Ivar nuts in contrast. “And to train your muscles, especially your back muscles, to support you. Even simple stretching exercises like this one help to build strength in your core - and you need your core to be strong now more than ever. So try again and keep your back straight.”

“Isn't this yoga? Are you teaching me yoga?”

“Yes,” Heahmund replied with a smirk. “What? Are you too _manly_ for yoga? Let me tell you, doing yoga is more badass than you think. You need a lot of control and strength to do it and you will use muscles you didn't even know were there before. Of course, we are limited in what we can do during your therapy but we can take certain yoga poses and use them to our advantage.”

“Sometimes I think that you are full of shit.” That actually gained him a small chuckle from Heahmund. Despite their rough start, he actually enjoyed spending time with the man during their sessions. It was a welcome relief, the way Heahmund acted and behaved towards him. Whenever he was here, far away from his sometimes a little overbearing brothers, he felt like a real man and not like a little boy. Heahmund was taking him seriously - at least he acted like he did - and he was talking to Ivar like he would talk to any other adult, even though he technically was still a kid. 

“Aren’t we all?” Heahmund shot back amused. 

“Not according to my brothers,” Ivar huffed. “They seem to think that they are infallible and perfect.”

“I doubt that they really think that.”

“Maybe not but they sure act this way.”

“How are you doing lately - with your brothers?”

“They still treat me with kid gloves,” Ivar grumbled leaning forward once more only for Heahmund to gently press a hand into his lower back and another in-between his shoulder blades to aid him in his quest and keep his back straight. At first, it had been weird to Ivar that the man would touch him without warning sometimes but now Heahmund’s hands were a source of comfort - a safety net. “And they seem to expect me to break down and cry like a baby about Sigurd and about the accident all the time. I think they are almost disappointed that I’m not.”

“Crying could be healthy, though. Letting out all the anguish and anger you feel. Have you been to his grave yet?”

“Why would I go there?” Ivar growled and slowly came up again. “What is there for me to find? Sigurd isn't there. There is no need to go there. And he will not come back either if I go there. No, I just have to get over it and accept what I did.”

“There is no ‘getting over it’, Ivar. There is only processing what happened. But there is no getting over the death of a loved one or getting over the guilt you are experiencing. What you are doing is trying to bury it and that shit will always backfire.”

“What the fuck do you know?” He hissed glaring daggers at the other man. “You have no fucking idea how I feel and what I am fucking going through so stop sticking your nose into my business!”

“I know more about shit like this than you might think. All I am trying is to help you, Ivar. You need to stop lashing out on those who want to help you.”

“I’m not asking you to help me!” He yelled even though he didn't mean to. His temper was once again getting the better of him and he could only watch it like an outsider as if it was a living, breathing sentient creature. “You are not my fucking therapist! I don't want your help!” Already he was clamoring to get back into his wheelchair. By now, he had gotten quite good at it. Bjorn’s training certainly helped in that regard.

“We are not done with today’s session yet.”

“Yes, we are!” Ivar hissed as he was back in his chair and disengaged the brakes. “I’m not here for a fucking shrink session, Heahmund! Goddammit! I don't even know what I’m doing here! This therapy thing is useless! I will never walk again so why keep pretending that this thing here does anything? I’m fucking done here!”

Heahmund didn't stop him as Ivar maneuvered himself out of the gym and, at last, out of the practice. In a way, he had not expected Heahmund to stop him. In a way, he had hoped that Heahmund would stop him. He knew that he had still half an hour left before Bjorn would come to pick him up in his black SUV but he didn't care as he wheeled himself out and up the street. For now, he just wanted to get away from it all. He wanted to get away from Heahmund and his armchair psychology. He wanted to get away from his brothers. He wanted to get away from the house and the memories. On the other hand, he had no idea where he was actually going, though. 

He just had to leave. So he did. 

He wheeled around aimlessly for quite some time until he stopped near his old school. He hadn't even realized where he was going and now his arms were burning from exhaustion and strain. As he looked up and saw the building in front of him, he felt a chill run down his spine like little spiders crawling over his skin. 

Ivar had always hated going to school. In a way, he had enjoyed it because it meant that he was out of the house and away from his mother’s control. On the flip side, however, it had meant that he had to be with other children that were not his brothers and coming to terms with the fact that those kids didn't like him one fucking bit and would not pretend like they did either. He had always been the odd one out, always been kind of a freak. And never had this been more clear than after he had enrolled in this private school that his three older brothers had attended as well. The kids in this school were from wealthy families, after all. They were from important families, raised with a silver spoon in their mouths much like Ivar, arrogant, and stuck-up. He hadn't met their standards and they had made him feel the brunt of their disdain always while constantly being compared to his brothers by the teachers.

He wasn’t as popular as Sigurd, not as kind and caring as Ubbe, not as funny as Hvitserk. He was just Ivar. Clever, yes, but not liked for his sharp mind. Only whenever the others would be able to profit off of his intelligence, they would turn to him and be best buddies but they would drop him always just as quickly if he was of no help to them. For the longest time, Ivar had tried to fit in, to be charming and nice and sweet. He had asked Freydis, the nicest girl in school out, and then everything had come crashing down on him again because to Freydis and her friends, this had been nothing more than a game.

For a moment, Ivar just stared at the building, thinking about how he walked to school with his brother, how they separated at the gate and went their own ways every day. Sigurd had always been swarmed by his friends right away. It had always been as if he was Moses, parting the red sea only for it to close behind him the moment Ivar wanted to follow his big brother. And, in the beginning, he _had_ actually tried to follow his big brother. A snort escaped him at the thought. Yes, when he was younger, he had been the little duckling following his big brothers around, trying to learn from them, trying to be like them, always getting up into their business. Sigurd and he should have been as close as Hvitserk and Ubbe were but they weren’t. They had never been particularly close. Sigurd had always resented him because of the way their mother had treated them so differently. That wasn’t Ivar’s fault and they both knew it but that didn’t change the way Sigurd looked at him. Ivar couldn't even blame him for it. 

Right now, he just wished Sigurd would appear next to him, smack him over the head, and taunt him for being a whiny bitch. He missed squabbling with him. He missed _him_.

“Ivar?” A voice suddenly called out to him. “Is that you?” Then a sharp exhale of breath that sounded like laughter. “It is! Fuck! I heard you were a cripple now but- Jesus!” As he turned to look at the person talking he saw Sven and his friends approach - friends of his brother’s. One of them took out his phone and snapped a photo of him in his wheelchair without his consent - not that he would care. 

“That's priceless!” He chuckled. “Karma really is a bitch, huh?”

Then, one of the boys, Felix, walked over to him and grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. “How about we go to talk somewhere more private, huh? We are old friends, after all. There’s a lot of catching up to do.”

※※※※※※※

When Bjorn arrived at the physiotherapy practice it was dark and deserted. Ivar had been the last appointment and the receptionist had already been gone when Bjorn had dropped his brother off earlier on his way back to the office to get a couple of documents. That was not unusual. Every time that Ivar would be the last appointment, Heahmund would tell his receptionist to leave early. In the beginning, he had been concerned by that, especially after the whole shebang with Ivar’s first appointment, but after a couple of weeks meeting with Heahmund, Ivar seemed to actually like the man. 

As Bjorn found the practice locked and dark this evening, however, confusion hit him like a ton of bricks and he checked his phone for the time. He thought that maybe he was just late and Heahmund had called someone else to pick Ivar up - or driven him home himself even. However, when he checked the time he noticed that he was ten minutes early. 

After a moment of hesitation, Bjorn actually knocked at the glass doors, and, lo and behold, light flickered on in the lobby. A moment later, he saw Heahmund approach from the back of the practice. The other man furrowed his brows in confusion but came over and unlocked the doors anyway to let Bjorn in.

“Mr. Ragnarsson,” Heahmund addressed him calmly. “Is something wrong?”

“Where’s my brother?” Bjorn asked straight away, his brows drawn together in confusion. “Has he been picked up already?”

“Isn’t he home yet?” There was a twinge of worry in Heahmund’s voice. It was subtle, barely there, but enough for Bjorn’s heart to start racing.

“What? Why? What do you mean?”

“Well, Ivar had a little outburst,” Heahmund shrugged, by now used to Ivar’s antics as it seemed. “He left about half an hour ago.”

“And you let him?” He almost yelled at the other man, panic now holding his heart in a tight vice-like it always would since the accident when he didn't know where his little brother was or if he was okay. 

“Why wouldn't I?” Heahmund huffed. “I didn't realize that he was a prisoner.”

“Of course, he isn't, but-”

“Mr. Ragnarsson, let me ask you a question” Heahmund had the same eyes as Ivar had; cold, calculating, sharp. No wonder they got along swimmingly. Heahmund was barely older than Ubbe was, just a couple of years younger than Bjorn himself, but he had the calmness of a monk and the eyes of a man who was wise beyond his years. “If your brother would not be sitting in a wheelchair, would you still make such a fuss about him being out and about by himself like any other normal sixteen-year-old teenage boy?”

“He is no normal sixteen-year-old teenage boy, though!” He hissed. 

“Isn't he?” Heahmund breathed out a sigh. “Listen, I’m working in this field long enough to have met quite a few teenagers for all kinds of different reasons and I can assure you that Ivar is just like any other teenager as well. The fact that he’s sitting in a wheelchair doesn't change that. If you want my advice, you should stop treating him like he’s made of glass and might break at the smallest inconvenience. If he wants to stop our sessions because he got too angry for some reason or another and wants to leave, I will not force him to stay. He is a free man. He has every right to say no or to stop the session if he’s uncomfortable.”

“And what if something happens to him? He’s helpless!”

“He’s no more helpless than any other person his age. Your brother can take care of himself. Maybe you should just allow him to prove it to you.”

Bjorn was baffled as he walked back to his car and got into the driver’s seat a few moments later. Deep down, Bjorn knew that Heamund was right. He wouldn't bat a lash if Ivar was out about in town if he would not be sitting in a wheelchair. Out there millions of people were living their daily lives sitting in wheelchairs like every other person out there. It was _normal_. And Ivar … Fuck, Ivar had always needed his freedom. He had always left the house whenever he wanted to and went wherever he wanted to go.

Still, it was getting dark outside and Bjorn quickly called his other two brothers to alert them of the situation. No matter what Heahmund thought, it was Bjorn’s duty to make sure that his brother was okay. As he started driving away from the practice, however, it dawned on him that he had not the smallest idea of where to search for his missing brother. He had never bothered asking Ivar if there was any special place for him out there, and he knew that Ivar didn't have any friends - except for Floki.

Ruling out Floki was quick work and took only one phone call. He told the old fool to stay home, though, just in case that Ivar would decide to go to him after all. When Bjorn started driving around Kattegat, the sun had started to go down and by the time he was about to give up, it was pitch blackout. Hvitserk had remained home, in case that Ivar would show up but by 9 PM there was still no sign of life of their youngest sibling. At last, Bjorn returned home and found Ubbe and Hvitserk waiting for him in the driveway, leaning against Ubbe’s car.

“Any news?” He asked as he exited his car and walked towards the other two. To say that Ubbe looked worried was probably the understatement of the fucking decade. He was fidgety, biting his bottom lip, scratching his neck. Hvitserk too seemed nervously worried.

“Nothing,” Hvitserk replied before Ubbe could. “Radio silence. His phone is shut off too.”

“We should have installed this tracking app on his phone!” Ubbe grunted.

“Like a helicopter mom?” Hvitserk shot back and got a glare in return from his older brother. 

“Okay guys, stay calm, alright? I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just blowing off steam or something. He will return home soon enough.”

“And what if he doesn't? What if something happened to him?”

Bjorn took a deep breath thinking about what Heahmund had said to him earlier. “Would you freak out like this too if Ivar wouldn't be sitting in a wheelchair?” Ubbe gaped at him like a goldfish. He had always had this kind of look about him when he was baffled. But before he could say anything, Bjorn cut him off. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, we have been babying him a lot lately. Ivar is not a child anymore, Ubbe. He is sixteen years old and he can handle himself. If he needs help, he will ask for help, he will call us. But I think that he wants to be left alone right now. I know … after the accident, everything has become strange. We have lost Sigurd and that was traumatic enough already. It's only natural to be extra worried now about Ivar and still … we need to … step back a bit. All of us. He will need to learn how to live his life without his big brothers hovering around him and treating him like an infant all the time. Or do you want him to be dependent on us forever? I, at least, want to see him thrive and do his own thing, manage his life.”

Ubbe’s mouth became a very thin line at those words but he didn't say anything at first, just let the words sink in. It would take time for Ubbe to understand and see reason. While Bjorn was the oldest of them, Ubbe had grown up with Ivar, had carried him around the house, had allowed Ivar to sit on his back and play horse, had wrestled him to sleep, had allowed him to sleep in his bed. It was as he had told Ubbe a little while ago. Sometimes it was hard for Bjorn to look at Ivar and not see a son instead of a brother but Ubbe would perhaps never see anything but his baby brother in Ivar, never anything but that tiny little thing that Ubbe had stared at for hours in his crib. 

“I wouldn't have thought you so wise, Bjorn.” Hvitserk sniggered and punched Ubbe’s arm. “I have to agree with the old man, Ubbe.”

“So what now?” Ubbe sighed at last. Bjorn could tell that he was not yell fully convinced or happy about the developments but at least he was willing to listen to reason - for now. “We just … go inside and act as if everything is fine and dandy? I can’t just sit around and wait for him to come back if I don't know if he’s okay! Not after-” He stopped himself and bit down on his words once more. 

They all knew what was going on inside of him, though. Of course, they knew it. Bjorn felt the same way since the accident. It was hard to watch his brothers leave the house and not to know if they would return home later. They couldn't continue to live their lives with the accident in the back of their heads though either. 

“What if,” Hvitserk suddenly chimed up again. “What if he went to Sigurd?”

**-End of Chapter 9-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think <3 feedback means a lot <3 <3 <3


	10. Sigurd

As he arrived at the cemetery, the sun was already setting behind the tall mountain chain that was surrounding Kattegat. He had always liked the way Kattegat was situated, the feel of seclusion from the rest of the world despite that being only an illusion thanks to modern amenities like cars and public transportation. The world was, in fact, only a short drive or commute away from Kattegat, dangerously close, sometimes. As he entered the cemetery and as the sun was setting, however, the imagined seclusion of Kattegat seemed isolating at the foot of the mountain where the old cemetery was nestled in between two hills. The cemetery was almost as old as the Christian reform of Norway way back in the 11th century.

Floki had taught him all about that time in history, just as he had taught him all about the ancient Gods. Sometimes, even now, Ivar wondered if it had been the right move to convert for the people back in those ancient times. Maybe the world was going to shit because the old Gods were pissed at humanity for no longer believing in them. If he would be a God, he would definitely be pissed. Fuck, Ivar couldn't even sit here and pretend like he believed in Christ.

The cemetery was a peaceful place in bright daylight but now it felt eerie and unwelcoming to Ivar as he slowly inched his way forward. He was hurting all over from the beating he had suffered but it was easy to ignore that for the time being. He was greeted by a tall iron gate straight out of a horror movie. The once medieval cemetery had gotten a gothic overhaul sometime in the 13th century. The gate was still open. It would probably remain open for the rest of the night as these days the danger of grave robbing scoundrels was so much slimmer than back in the day. The biggest danger on nightly graveyards nowadays were edgy teenagers pretending to be Satanists. Behind the gate, a narrow cobblestone path was twisting and turning through the ancient cemetery like a giant snake. He thought about Jormungandr, the Midgard serpent whose body held in the sea. He had always liked those stories.

Maneuvering his wheelchair across the cobblestone path was tedious and exhausting. The wheels got stuck in the gaps between the large battered stones all the time. His hands already hurt from maneuvering around the city for hours now. His knuckles were bloody and hurt - but not from his wheelchair. Looking down on his hands gave him a sense of satisfaction. They had not expected him to fight back and even though he had only caused little damage, at least he had not gone down without a fight.

The oldest graves were the ones the farthest away from the old church up the hill to the left. So, Ivar took a right turn, following the path to where the cobblestones had been replaced by more modern stone slabs. He moved past crooked gravestones and foreboding statues, past angels weeping over the graves they were guarding, past long-forgotten names and overgrown headstones. The deeper he seemed to dive into the graveyard, the newer-looking the headstones at both sides of the path became.

He had been here only twice so far in his life. Ivar hated the cemetery with a passion. He didn't like being reminded of death. He didn't like being reminded of loss. And yet he was here again. The last time he had been here, his mother had just died from a senseless, stupid accident caused by her own stupid, senseless vanity. Ivar harbored no illusions about the fact that his mother had never really loved his father and that his father had never really loved his mother. It hadn't mattered to him much. His parents had loved him and they had loved his brothers. That seemed to be the only thing of importance in the matter. Who cared if they had loved each other? 

Yet, it had been a little jarring to Ivar when his mother had started going out again shortly after his father’s death to rekindle that affair she had had during his childhood. Harbard was perhaps the only man his mother had ever truly loved without him repaying that favor. Suddenly, she had started to doll herself up again a little more than she had had while Ragnar had been around. She had never been lazy with her appearance but there had been no reason to be glamorous around her husband of twenty-plus years anymore at some point - not after giving him four children. And then his father had died and his mother had returned to wearing high heels and tight dresses again. And then she had died, ironically, when the heel of her stiletto had broken off as she had been descending a flight of stairs in a hurry to get to a date with Harbard. It was, in a way, as if his father’s cold, dead hand had reached out of his grave one last time to drag her down with him out of spite. 

And his father … Oh, he had loved his father. He had loved his father more than he had loved his mother. Her love had often been suffocating to him. Ragnar’s love had been empowering. He had kissed the ground his father walked on, worshipped him, praised every little accomplishment, and yet desired to one day be greater than his own father. He was sure that Ragnar had seen that desire, that ambition in the eyes of his sons and he had never tried to snuff out that flame. On the contrary, he had fed the fire inside of him whenever he could. Yet, he knew that his father had needed a lot of time, after Ivar had first been born, to grow to really love him. His crying had driven him out of the house as it had driven his brothers up the walls. 

Ivar stopped his journey when he reached the tall gravestone that wore his father’s name, right next to the grave of his mother. For the longest time, he just sat there, staring at the gravestone as if looking at his father’s stoic, calm face when Ivar would have walked into his office to tell him about something that was important to him. And his father had always humored him, stopped whatever it was he had been doing no matter how important, and listened to Ivar rambling with as much seriousness as if he was listening to a business partner - yet, always with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

His mother hadn’t really allowed Ivar to go near Ragnar during his last couple of weeks. The sickness had turned his once loving father into a violent beast at times. It was the pain, his mother had told him. Ivar knew a thing or two about being in pain. So, a couple of times he had ignored her ban and snuck into his father’s bedroom regardless and every time he had, he had found his father either asleep thanks to the morphine he would take or with a soft smile on his face as if he had already known that Ivar would visit him. In those last weeks of Ragnar’s life, Ivar had shared many quiet hours at his father’s side, resting beside him, his head on Ragnar’s shoulder or his strong chest and his father’s arm curled around him protectively. A lion curled up around his cub. A dangerous beast protective of his youngest. They hadn't spoken much during those secret visits. It had been enough to just be together, to lie there and be quiet. If his father had known how afraid Ivar had been to lose him, his hero, he had never shown it. 

“I miss you,” He whispered into the silence of the graveyard as he extended his left arm to brush the tips of his fingers gently over the inscription on the stone. _Beloved husband, adored father, pillar of the community_. His mother couldn't have chosen a more vacant description even if she would have honestly tried and still the words were true. He had been adored by his children, loved by his first wife even in death, and he had built large chunks of the community of Kattegat. His funeral had been huge. Everyone seemed to have known Ragnar. Everyone seemed to have wanted to come to his funeral and pay their respects. 

“I wonder,” He continued quietly. “What you would say to me now … I always wanted to become greater than you. I always wanted to prove to my brothers that I was just like them and I struggled my whole life trying to. I always thought that I had to work harder than them, be better than them, just to be of equal standing. And now … Now I will never reach that bar that I have set for myself. I’m just a fucking cripple … and I deserve it. There is nothing my brothers could say or do to convince me otherwise. I have always been a dick. I made fun of people, used their shortcomings against them despite knowing what that feels like. I’m afraid that it's too late for me now to change myself for the better.” He breathed out a deep sigh. It was cold out here now that the sun had almost vanished. His breath was fogging in front of his face. Spring was approaching but it was not yet here and the mountains were still covered in snow, dusted like powdered sugar. “I just wished you were here to guide me, Dad. I always made fun of Hvitserk for needing someone to tell him where to go and what to do but … he never needed guidance as badly as I do.” 

The sound of a dead twig falling off a near-by tree startled him so badly that he almost fell out of his chair. Only then did Ivar realize how badly his eyes had been burning. His nose was running too. He snorted, wiped the sleeve of his jacket over his face, and cleared his throat. Asking his dead father for guidance was maybe stupid but, right as the twig had fallen, he had felt like there was someone standing right behind him. If it had been his dad, he would have probably told him to pull himself together and not be such a whiny pussy about his lot in life.

“You’re right,” He whispered with a small nod. “I will find my own path.” That was at least what his father had always told him. That he would find his own path through life and that he would excel following it. “I love you, Dad. I hope you have a grand old time up in Heaven … with Sigurd and Gyda.” 

Not so much with his mother, he would assume. He had never met his big sister but she was buried at his father’s side, so they were probably together. After he finally got a grip again, Ivar turned his wheelchair and maneuvered himself past the grave of his mother. He had nothing to say to her. He had loved her dearly, yes, but there was nothing left to say to her. She would be disappointed in him. He knew that. She would be scolding him for being so stupid - but she would do it with that flicker of amusement in her eyes like she didn't really mean it and was just scolding him to placate other people who were expecting her to scold him. In a way, he blamed her for the way he turned out, for his ego to get the better of him sometimes, for his temper being so bad, for his fuse being so short because she had always given him what he wanted, she had never honestly scolded him and told him off when he did something bad. Somehow, he thought, she would find a way to explain away what he had done this time. Somehow, he thought, she might even find a way to blame his brothers for what he had done this time.

But he didn't want to find excuses. He didn't want to explain away what he had done. There was no excuse. There was no explanation. There was no redemption. There was no forgiving. 

He knew where his brother’s grave was. Even if he wouldn't know that it was right beside their mother, the fresh flowers and burning lanterns would have given it away. People had been here recently. There was a teddy bear sitting next to Sigurd’s gravestone. It was a bit dirty but had probably not been out for longer than a few weeks. Sigurd had always had many friends. Maybe one of the girls that liked him had brought the bear. Maybe even Freydis. He wondered, not for the first time, what his own funeral would look like. Would someone besides his family show up? Would people put down little teddy bears or flowers onto his grave weeks after the funeral? What an empty life he had been leading so far. What a bright light had been snuffed out that fateful night. 

It wasn’t fair. Sure, he and Sigurd had had their differences, they had fought a lot, they couldn't have been more different even if they would have tried to be and yet he had loved his big brother with all his heart. “It should have been me,” He mumbled quietly and this time he allowed the tears to flow freely and the sobs to wrack his body as he sat there in front of his brother’s grave, wondering if he was here, watching. 

It wasn’t fair that Sigurd had died and he was alive. Sigurd, who had so much to give to the world, who would have been successful and beloved and praised. Instead, Sigurd who had been shining as brightly as the sun had died too early and Ivar was still here. Ivar, who had nothing to give. Ivar, the snake slithering across the ground in the moonlight. He wondered if their brothers would look at Sigurd the same way they looked at Ivar these days, with contempt barely hidden behind pity. Would the same anger be simmering just beneath the surface towards Sigurd that his brothers tried to swallow down these days when they would look at Ivar? Would they even be sad if Ivar would have died instead of Sigurd? Would Sigurd feel as rotten as he did?

“I’m sorry,” He sobbed quietly as he buried his face in his hands. “It should have been me … It should have been me…”

※※※※※※※

The air was cold and promised of snow despite April approaching in strides now. Then again, snow this late into winter wasn’t really all that unusual for Kattegat. Their winters were exceptionally cold and their summers hotter than the devil’s ass - as their father had described it so poetically when they were younger. The times in between were the most beautiful, tough. In spring, Kattegat would explode into greens and during the autumn months, the colors would be bold and bright. These days, before spring would claim the land and the sun would start warming up the earth, nights would still get freezing cold, with ice on the ground. Maybe it was a long shot to try finding Ivar here at the old church and in the graveyard of all places but since they had searched high and low and couldn't find their little brother, this was as good a guess as any other.

Ubbe knew that they needed to find Ivar quickly now. He had been out and about for hours now with no means of warming up and if he would stay outside during the night, he would freeze to death for sure. Ivar would forget to keep himself warm now that he was sitting in a wheelchair. His feet and legs would be freezing cold and he would still refuse to put a blanket over his legs or put warmer socks on. He was a stubborn little asshole, after all. Ubbe would regularly run after him these days to put a hoodie around Ivar’s shoulders or a blanket on his lap and his brother loathed him for his mothering.

“What are the chances that he’s actually here?” Hvitserk asked quietly as they got out of Bjorn’s SUV. His breath was fogging in front of his face and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his parka. Bjorn, who got out last and locked his car before shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat too, drew a deep sigh. “It's the only option we have left.” He shrugged. “If he’s not here … We have to go back home and … wait.”

“Wait?” Ubbe asked. “You just want to wait?”

“No, I don't but … listen, Ubbe, if we call the police right away, they will tell us to wait until at least twenty-four hours have passed to file a missing person report.” He knew that his brother was right but the answer was still not very satisfying to Ubbe. “I know.” Bjorn raised his hands placatingly. “I don't like that either, Ubbe. I too would like to go to the police right away but … you know Ivar better than I do. He’s a wildcard, always has been. He’s unpredictable. He does what he wants when he wants and there is no stopping him. You know that. Perhaps he just went to blow off some steam somewhere and will return on his own.”

“Or he is dead in a ditch somewhere…”

“Hvitserk!” Ubbe hissed and smacked his little brother hard across the head.

“What? It's true, Ubbe! He might be! I’m not saying I _want_ that, you idiot. I’m just saying that it's possible. He hasn't been himself since the accident. He is depressed and anxious and full of pent-up rage and frustration. As Bjorn said, Ivar is unpredictable. We just don't know what he might have done in a fit of rage or self-loathing.”

He knew that it was true but even entertaining these kinds of thoughts was painful. “Let's just … go and see if he’s here. And … if he’s not … we’ll … figure out what to do, I guess.”

With that, the trio stepped through the open iron gate into the cemetery. There was barely any light coming from a couple of light fixtures along the way. A thin layer of fog was hovering over the ground and it was actually hard to see the path. Yet, Ubbe would know his way to Sigurd’s grave blind. It took them only a couple of minutes until they found the grave of their sister Gyda, followed by their father and their mother Aslaug. So much death in their family. And then, as Sigurd’s grave appeared out of nowhere, Ubbe expected to see Ivar there - but he wasn't. The graveyard was deserted except for the trio.

As he found Sigurd’s grave without Ivar in front of it, Ubbe felt as if a hole was opening up beneath his feet. There they stood, three brothers in front of the grave of their younger brother while the youngest of them was still missing without any sign of life. For a while, they just stood there in front of Sigurd’s grave. Ubbe knew that both Hvitserk and Bjorn felt the same way as he did. He knew that they were just as desperate to find Ivar and that they both had hoped to find him here. It was almost like the night of the accident was repeating itself all over again. 

Even as they later sat together in the living room in front of the crackling fire in the fireplace and waited, it felt like it had when they had been sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. They didn't speak, just kept checking their phones, kept sending messages to Ivar, kept trying to call him. They just sat there in silence, waiting for a call to reach them telling them that Ivar had been found dead in a ditch. As midnight rolled around, even Ubbe couldn't help but expect the worst just as a flash of light outside their house alerted the brothers to the arrival of a car they didn't know.

※※※※※※※

“I didn't know where to go,” Ivar said as he clasped his hands around the steaming hot mug of tea. “I didn't know … what to do.” He felt strange sitting on the soft sofa in that unfamiliar house. He had never been here before. He wouldn't have thought that he would ever get here. Knowing this address came from his perceptive nature - and because he had seen it on a letter at the front desk of the physiotherapy practice one day.

Heahmund sat on the sofa next to him, seated on it in a way that would allow him to lean with his side against the backrest and turn his full body towards Ivar to grant him his full attention. His blue eyes were lingering on Ivar with the same intensity that they always were. He had been accused of having a creepy stare before, a piercing gaze, but he had nothing on Heahmund. At least Ivar didn't think that anyone had ever looked at him like Heahmund looked at him. There was not the overbearing softness Ubbe would look at him with, not the sympathy Bjorn regarded him with, or the badly-concealed uneasiness that would lie behind Hvitserk’s eyes. Nor did Heahmund look at him with pity or disgust - hell, not even annoyance that Ivar had dropped by without a warning or explanation of how he knew where to find the man. His gaze was unreadable to Ivar. 

He knew that he was overstepping a boundary here but Heahmund hadn't turned him away when he rang his doorbell ten minutes ago. He had not even looked surprised. He had ushered him inside and made tea. Just like that. As if he had expected Ivar. As if they were old friends. Sometimes he would look at Heahmund and feel like he had known him his whole life. As annoying the man sometimes was when they worked together, he knew that Heahmund might be the only person who truly understood him.

“Why can't you go home?” Heahmund asked after a moment of silent contemplation. The mug was scalding hot against the icy skin of Ivar’s frozen fingers. “I’m sure your brothers are sick with worry. Bjorn seemed freaked out when he wanted to pick you up and you weren’t there.”

“I…” Yes, what? _What, Ivar?_ He had always had an answer for everything. His sharp tongue and quick mind had never forsaken him in the past and yet he sat here and didn't know what to say. Why had he come here and not gone to Floki or maybe even his uncle? Hell, he could have gone to Torvi even! He had decided to come here, though and that had to mean something. He knew what it meant. He wasn’t stupid. He needed an outsider to judge him because his brothers refused to do so and Rollo had taken care of the police. He needed absolution. 

“I caused the accident,” Ivar confessed quietly, knowing that Heahmund might as well go to the police with that information. There was no absolution without repentance, without confession. “The accident that killed my brother. I was … the driver. I was drunk. Sigurd was drunk. I just wanted to get away because I started a fight again. I was … proud and stupid and thought that I knew better than everyone else. I felt … invincible.”

Heahmund’s gaze not once left Ivar’s face and his expression didn't change either. He just looked at him quietly, that same calm expression on his face he wore like a shield. Ivar noticed a wooden cross on the wall over the TV. He wouldn't have thought Heahmund was religious enough to hang a crucifix in his home. 

“My uncle … he took care of the police … so that … I wouldn't need to face the consequences. He did that to spare me because he thought that it would be hard for me already … going through life knowing I have killed my brother and ruined my life.” Ivar shrugged. “Everyone in my family knows and they are … so … insufferably understanding and soft. I … I killed my brother and they don't say anything, they don't do anything. They don't yell at me or hit me or … I don't know. They act as if it hasn’t happened and I … I went to Sigurd’s grave. I don't know why. I just did. I had to, I guess. And I don't know what I hoped to find there either. Maybe I hoped … if I would say sorry, he would just get out of his grave and tell me I was forgiven or something - but he won’t come back. He won’t. He’s dead. He was supposed to go to America and become a great musician but I ruined it - like I ruin everything. It's like I’m cursed or something. I’m that … black mold that just spreads everywhere. Everyone I love just dies. My father, my mother, now Sigurd. What if Hvitserk dies next? Or Ubbe? Or Bjorn?” He drew in a shuddering breath. Not for the first time today he was crying like a fucking baby but Heahmund didn't react to it nor did he offer him a tissue. 

“I hated Sigurd!” He breathed out. “I hated him so much! He always made fun of me. He and Hvitserk. They used every opportunity that they could get to ruin my day, to taunt me, to belittle and humiliate me. I hated him for the way people flocked towards him while he left me in his shadow always. And I loved him … so much. I loved him. And now he’s dead and I will never be able to tell him how much I loved and envied and respected him - how his music always made my days better when I was in pain or how it helped me to have someone to fight with and bicker with. He took me to that party because I was his annoying little brother who would throw a tantrum otherwise and now he’s dead...”

He bit back a sob, unwilling to break down completely in front of his trainer. Heahmund just took a sip of his tea before he placed the mug on the wooden coffee table. The touch at the side of his face came without warning and almost made Ivar flinch.

“Who hit you?” Heahmund asked quietly as if that was more important than Ivar’s confession. He wanted to distract him from his tears. Ivar almost snorted at the realization but maybe then snot would come out of his nose and he had already made enough of a fool of himself in front of Heahmund.

“Some of Sigurd’s friends … they … I was at the school and they saw me. So … They dragged me away. I couldn't do anything.” He shrugged. “It wouldn't have changed anything. They dragged me into the forest and started beating the crap out of me. But I fought back. I … grabbed a branch from the ground and just started swinging. I got them good, I think. When I had one of them on the ground I repaid him. They left me there … one of them had a broken nose and was bleeding all over the place.”

“I assume you don't want to go to the police because of the attack.”

“No…”

“Because you think you deserved it.”

“I did deserve it,” Ivar muttered. “I killed my brother.”

“Yes, you did but do you think Sigurd would have wanted that for you? That you live your life like that? Torturing yourself?” Heahmund asked calmly. “Do you think your brother would want to see you hurting like that? Would you want to see him hurting like that if your places were swapped?”

“You talk as if you knew him.”

“I was about to become a priest before I came to Norway.” Well, that came out of the blue. “I changed my plans, obviously, after a couple of years. However, the time I spent in this environment has been long enough to show me what guilt can do to people when they allow it to eat them up. I have seen people fall into addiction or do horrible things to themselves and others to cope with whatever was burdening their consciousness. Some of them turned to God, hoping He would free them of that burden. None of them understood that while they might find peace in God, He wouldn't free them of their guilty consciousness. None of them understood that the path of forgiveness starts with oneself. It is a long and rocky road, Ivar, that you have to follow now, but making that first step begins with you. You have to make that decision to go on that journey and along the way, you will see that the people around you will forgive you if they can. You have to work hard for their forgiveness but you have to start with yourself first. 

Before anyone will ever be able to forgive you for your sins, you have to be the one who forgives yourself first. And that step is hard, I’m not going to lie to you. That first step takes effort, it takes you to make an honest self-inventory of what led you to that point where you made that mistake and sometimes it takes years for people to be able to go that step. What I am trying to say, Ivar, is that you cannot expect to wake up one day and feel free of that burden and have the people around you look at you as if nothing had happened. The hole that Sigurd’s death has ripped into your family, will stay there forever - you can fill it though with good memories of your brother, you can fill it with purpose and meaning, with bettering yourself for the sake of honoring his memory. I don't need to have known your brother to know that he loved you as much as you loved him and that he wouldn't have wanted you to torment yourself for the rest of your life. We can't know what would have happened that night if you wouldn't have driven the car. Yes, your brother might still be alive. And just the same it would be possible that your places would have been swapped, that he would be sitting here now and you would be in the ground. No one can say these things. Only God knows the answers to those questions and God, as I’ve learned, has the habit of not answering our questions.”

Ivar was quiet after listening to that sermon. He wanted to mock Heahmund for the things he had said. There was this nasty little voice in the back of his head that wanted to spit insults at him and make fun of him but he felt too drained for that. Instead, he took a sip of his tea and leaned back into the couch. 

“What should I do now?” He asked Heahmund at last. 

“We are going to clean up your wounds now and then I will drive you home. Your brothers are probably out of their minds with worry by now.” Ivar nodded and Heahmund took that as his cue to get up to get his first aid kit. By the time he came back, Ivar had emptied his mug and put it onto the coffee table. He watched Heahmund like a hawk, envying his strong legs and lean body. He was strong and athletic, a good looking man, something Ivar had always aspired to be and would now have to bid goodbye forever. He was jealous of him. He wanted to be like him.

Heahmund took a seat in front of him on the table and Ivar just accepted the physical contact with the other man as Heahmund began cleaning up his wounds carefully, his eyes dutifully on the task. His hands were gentle, yet hard enough to command his body into the positions he wanted it to until he was satisfied.

When, about forty minutes later, the house came into sight, Ivar felt almost sad that he had to leave Heahmund’s company. He felt strangely at peace in the man’s presence. Not once had Heahmund inflicted judgment upon him tonight. He took him as he was, not trying to change him in the slightest. That was new for him.

“I have to ask” Ivar turned to Heahmund again as he drove onto the property, even if it was just to distract himself from the dim light shining through the living room window. His brothers were probably in there. He had just switched on his phone only to be faced with a plethora of missed calls from all three of them, even from Floki, Torvi, Helga, and his uncle - not to mention the dozens of unread messages. “Why did you change your plan and didn't become a priest after all?”

“Oh,” Heahmund breathed out in a chuckle. He couldn't deny that he liked that sound. Deep and rich and heavy, like a good red wine. Not that he had drunk much red wine in his life so far. “Well, I was very young when I got into the seminary - barely older than you, actually. I felt like becoming a catholic priest was my fate but the longer I remained there, the more I learned, the clearer it became to me on many levels, that I wouldn't be able to live a life by the standards the catholic church was setting for their priests.”

“Which means?”

“I realized early that there was much deceit in the catholic church, much falseness, corruption, and other things I didn't want to get involved with.” Heahmund huffed. “I decided that I wanted to turn to helping people in different ways than faith. I realized that as a physiotherapist, I would be able to help people and bear witness to the progress they would make. I think in many ways this is a much more rewarding job - without all the politics.” He breathed out another chuckle and finally stopped the car in front of the house. “Also it didn't exactly help my standing in the catholic church that I’m bisexual. They don't like people like me.” He added with a wink.

Before Ivar could say anything in return, the front door of the house flew open and his brothers stormed outside. “Thank you.” He turned to Heahmund before Ubbe reached the passenger’s side.

“Take care, Ivar,” Heahmund replied with a smile. “You are always welcome at my place, whether it's for a chat or just to have a willing ear. You’ll find your path, I promise you that.”

The door was thrown open and Ivar all but ripped out of the car and into Ubbe’s strong arms. He couldn't do much about it. His brothers were like a hoard of wild animals, seeing a lamb and tearing it limb from limb in a matter of seconds. Before he knew it, he was inside where it was warm. He barely registered that it was only Hvitserk and Ubbe with him before, a couple of seconds later, Bjorn returned with his wheelchair. He had probably talked to Heahmund. Ubbe, he noticed with horror as he was disposed of on the plush sofa in the living room, had actual tears in his eyes as he started checking him over. 

“What happened? Are you okay? Where are you hurt? Who did this to you?” 

While Ubbe was fretting, Hvitserk smacked the back of his head hard. “What the hell, Ivar?” He hissed. “Where’ve you been? We were worried sick for you! Ubbe almost got a heart attack when we couldn't find you! You can't just fucking vanish on us without a trace like that you fucking drama queen!”

In return, Hvitserk was smacked across the head by Bjorn. “Don't be an asshat, Hvitserk.” Bjorn scolded his younger brother and Ivar couldn't quite help but think that sometimes they had to look like a pack of wolves squabbling with each other, play-fighting like puppies. Bjorn sat down on the coffee table in front of Ivar much like Heahmund had while Hvitserk sat down on his other side and Ubbe not once let him out of his iron grip.

“Where have you been?” Bjorn now too asked, calmer than both his younger brothers. 

“I was … I don't know,” Ivar muttered quietly, suddenly aware of the weight of their worries, suffocating underneath the realization that despite his actions, his brothers still loved him and wanted to protect him. Ubbe’s arm was heavy as it rested around his shoulders. Still, he leaned into the contact with his big brother, quietly thankful for it. “I just needed to get away for a while … from everything. It … I needed time to myself.”

“And you couldn't have just called us and told us where you were going?” Hvitserk asked but Ubbe hissed at him to shut his mouth so he snapped his mouth shut and looked at Ivar as if his younger brother had eaten his hamster.

“It was all too much all of a sudden. I couldn't breathe. At some point, I ended up at the school and some of Sigurd’s friends noticed me.” He told his brothers of how those assholes had pretty much kidnapped him into the nearby forest, of how they had thrown him out of his wheelchair and kicked him while he was on the ground, of how he had managed to fight back - noticed the pride in Bjorn’s eyes, noticed the fury on Ubbe and Hvitserk’s faces. He told them how he had ended up at the cemetery and then went to Heahmund at last.

“I just don't understand,” Ubbe sighed when Ivar ended his little tale of adventure. “Why didn't you come to us if you needed to talk. Why go to Heahmund? To a stranger and tell him everything?”

“ _Because_ he’s a stranger,” Bjorn replied before Ivar could. “ _Because_ he’s an outsider. Right?”

Ivar nodded quietly. “I wanted someone who … would listen and look at me without seeing their little brother or some fragile little thing. I wanted honesty. I wanted to be seen as the monster that I am.”

“You are no monster,” Ubbe insisted. “You made a mistake, Ivar. We all do.”

“A mistake that cost Sigurd his life!” He shot back angrily and Ubbe almost flinched at the sound. “How am I ever going to live with that, Ubbe? Huh? How am I supposed to live my life knowing that I killed my brother because I was a stupid asshole who couldn't keep his mouth shut and not get into a fight for one god damn night? I am … always so angry!” He wrung his hands, unable to put it into words what he felt deep inside of him, this endless well of utter fury, that has always been there within him, an endless supply of rage. He was like a volcano, always just seconds away from erupting and when he did, people would get hurt. “I’m always angry and I don't know what to do about it! I wish I wasn’t so angry all the time…”

To his surprise, it was Hvitserk, who put his arm around him and pulled him into his side, leaning his head against his brother for a second. “Your anger is what drives you forward in life,” His brother said quietly. “It's the fuel that keeps you going against all odds. You should use it, not regard it as something bad. Though I agree that it would be nice if you could stop being a little asshole all the time.”

“Puberty doesn't really help in that regard,” Bjorn suddenly mocked with a smirk on his face that almost made Ivar laugh. It was an enigma to him how his brothers could sit here and not scream at him still. 

“Why aren't you guys angry?” He then all but whispered as he sat between his brothers, the center of attention and suddenly feeling very small and lost because of it. He was the black sheep, the runt of the family. It had always been like that. In the past, he had desired to be the center of attention so that he wouldn't just vanish and be left behind. Right now, he felt uncomfortable having all this attention on him and didn't know what to do. “Why aren't you … screaming at me? Why don't you hate me?”

“We _are_ angry,” Ubbe said finally. “We _are_ furious. We _are_ hurt. We _are_ sad. We _are_ heartbroken. We still love you, though. And nothing you could do will ever change that, Ivar. You messed up big time. You did something horrible. Maybe Sigurd would have done the same thing and then he would be sitting here right now and we would tell him the same thing.”

“I doubt that,” Ivar spat. “Sigurd was the golden child … I’m just the black sheep. Ivar the asshole, Ivar the monster, Ivar who’s always angry, Ivar who ruins everything, Ivar who always seeks fights.”

“Do you really think that?” Bjorn asked with furrowed brows as he leaned forward on his knees to catch Ivar’s downcast eyes. There was no escape. He couldn't even get up and run away because his stupid legs were no longer his. He might as well cut it all off. “That we look at you like that? That there is … some kind of ranking system? We are all equals, Ivar. And I love you just the same as I loved Sigurd, as I love Hvitserk and Ubbe. There is no competition, there is no ranking or hierarchy - and there hasn’t been for your parents either. They loved you the same as they loved your brothers.”

Ivar didn't know what to make of these words. He didn't feel like they were true. Maybe they were. Maybe they weren’t. He didn't know if it really mattered. He felt small and insignificant and vulnerable. He didn't like to be the center of attention suddenly. He just wanted to vanish in the shadows and be forgotten but his brothers, those stupid assholes, wouldn't let him. 

“What do I do now?” Ivar whispered and he hated the wobble in his voice and how broken he must sound. “My heart is broken…” 

It was Bjorn who pulled him against his chest, even though the angle was uncomfortable for both of them, and repeated the same words that Floki had told him not too long ago. “It will repair.” And for once, Ivar thought, he actually wanted to believe that.

**-End of Chapter 10-**


	11. Epilogue

Snow was falling heavily and in huge white chunks outside the window of Heahmund’s bedroom in the heart of Kattegat, glowing against the black night sky. Sweat still clung to his skin as he rolled over onto his side to cushion his head on Heahmund’s shoulder, tearing his eyes away from the window. The man reacted with a low hum, exhausted from their earlier activities. He liked to mock Ivar. Liked to play the old-man-card and pretend that Ivar with his eighteen years was this insatiable demon and that he, being almost thirty now, could not possibly keep up with his hunger while nothing could be further from the truth.

As Ivar pressed a kiss to the skin of his shoulder, his lover breathed out a low chuckle. “Again?” Heahmund huffed, amusement dripping from his voice, and sent him a glance that made Ivar’s entire world turn on its head. 

Looking back on it, he wouldn't be able to tell when their friendship had turned into something more. It had always been there in his peripheral, the want to be closer to Heahmund, to touch him outside of their therapy and outside of friendly gestures. Heahmund, however, had been a paradigm of self-control for the past two years. The moment Ivar had turned eighteen, that had all changed so suddenly that it had knocked the wind out of him quite literally as he remembered how Heahmund had pushed him onto the ground in his practice and ravaged his mouth without a warning - not that Ivar would have complained about it. He hadn't realized how much he wanted it until he had gotten it. And now he couldn't get enough of it.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Heahmund mocked as he dragged his thumb over Ivar’s jaw, his gaze so intense that it sent shivers down his spine. Of course, that didn't escape Heahmund. Nothing ever escaped Heahmund. He was a very attentive man - a very attentive lover too, always careful not to hurt him when he would thrust into him and turn his mind into shambles while he would take him apart piece by piece. With a wicked smile, Ivar dragged his tongue over the side of Heahmund’s neck as he felt heat pooling in his groin. Heahmund actually laughed at that. “You are unbelievable! How can you be aroused again already? We have done it five times now!”

“It's my youthful prowess, old man,” Ivar grinned as he leaned in closer and bit Heahmund’s cheek gently. 

His lover’s arm closed around him more securely at that, tugging him into his side as Heahmund turned and tried to catch his lips - _tried_ because Ivar pulled his head out of reach with a snigger. Arousal, Ivar had learned in the past couple of years, came in many different ways. Arousal didn't _have_ to mean that his dick got hard necessarily. And Heahmund could read all the little signs that pointed to Ivar being aroused with ease. He saw it in the little goosebumps he would get all over his body, he saw it in the way his skin flushed, the way his breathing would quicken and his heartrate would go up, even in the dilation of his pupils. He was an open book to Heahmund and they didn't need many words to understand each other. He felt alive when Heahmund would be inside of him, stimulating him to the point where Ivar would forget his own name and become a blabbering, moaning mess underneath him.

“You are nervous,” Heahmund stated out of the blue and dragged his fingers through Ivar’s hair that was already a ruffled mess on his head anyway. “I can tell.”

“Of course, I am,” Ivar sighed at last and leaned into the caress like a greedy cat. “Tomorrow … is the second anniversary of Sigurd’s death, after all. I don't know if … if it's the right moment to do this … you know? I’m scared of how they will react.”

“I don't think that your brothers will react in anger because you chose that day for the big reveal, Ivar,” Heahmund replied calmly, his voice like velvet. Ivar couldn't help it; He _wanted_ to believe him. No matter what Heahmund would say to him, he always wanted to believe him because out of Heahmund’s mouth the world seemed to make sense. “It's a celebration, don't forget that. You are still alive and we celebrate that as we celebrate Sigurd’s life and his memory. Sigurd would be proud of you if he could see you now. Somehow you managed to exceed expectations - even mine. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“There’s plenty to be afraid of!” Ivar replied stubbornly - maybe even a little petulantly. Nothing Heahmund wouldn't be able to handle. “I could make a complete fool of myself, for example.”

“Yes, that’s always a possibility with you,” Heahmund mocked. “You are certainly prone to look like an idiot.”

“Now you just try to flatter me to get into my pants.” Ivar chuckled and drummed his fingers against Heahmund’s broad chest. 

By now, his brothers didn't question where Ivar would vanish overnight anymore, even though it had taken Ubbe a lot of time and getting used to the fact that his brother was no helpless little child anymore. He remembered how he had first gone into town alone, a couple of months after the accident. Ubbe had acted like it was the most normal thing but Ivar knew that he had been sitting in the kitchen, watching out of the window, his phone in his hands, anxiously waiting for his return or a call the entire time that Ivar had been out. By now, he had gained back a little normalcy to his life, a little independence even. He would leave the house in the morning and go to work like every other normal person and he would return in the evening. His job as Floki’s apprentice was exhausting but it was good work and every time he would leave the workshop, he would feel like he had done something useful. The Heahmund-thing, though … He had not yet talked to his brothers about that. It was still all so fresh and exciting and he knew that at least Ubbe would not be excited to hear that Ivar was dating a man who was ten years older than him. 

“I don't need to flatter you,” Heahmund replied with that self-assured, cocky smile he liked so much. “I just need to look at you and you spread your legs for me...”

Ivar hummed in response, a grin tugging at his lips. He felt like he should be ashamed of his wantonness towards the other man but he just couldn't bring himself to feel any kind of shame. Why would he? It was true. Ever since that first kiss they shared, Ivar was burning with desire for the other man. He would gladly forgo everything else if it meant Heahmund would fuck him into oblivion for hours on end. These days it was really hard for Ivar to get anything done. Even Floki had picked up on that, snickered, and told him straight to his face that everyone could see that he was in love. Ivar, on the other hand, wasn’t sure if he wanted to label what he felt for Heahmund in this way. He kept turning the word over and over in his head and tasted it on his tongue but he was afraid to use it. Afraid that him using it would ruin everything again.

“And yet you refuse to deliver!” Ivar grinned with a wink before, without warning, Heahmund rolled on top of him, his strong arms boxing Ivar’s head in, their noses only millimeters apart now. He felt Heahmund’s cock twitch in excitement as it dug into Ivar’s stomach. “Look who’s talking!” He teased but kept lying perfectly still as if Heahmund was nothing but a wild animal and Ivar his prey - even though Heahmund would probably claim that it was the other way around. It was moments like this when he wished his legs would listen to his command so that he would be able to wrap them around Heahmund’s hips and drag him closer.

“Shut up,” Heahmund smirked before pushing his mouth onto Ivar’s. A moan escaped him and was swallowed by the kiss, as Heahmund dragged his right hand down his flank, moving it to his thigh, toying with him as a cat would toy with a mouse. “You are insufferable,” Heahmund breathed against his lips as they broke apart. There was fondness in his eyes though, a fondness that made Ivar’s face split into a grin and made him almost forget the anxiety he was feeling for the things yet to come.

It was not as if he no longer would wake up from nightmares of the accident. It was not as if he no longer found himself paralyzed by guilt or a profound, deep sadness whenever his thoughts would stray towards his dead brother. It were the little things that reminded him of his deep guilt; the sound of a guitar being plucked, Sigurd’s favorite brand of cornflakes that Ubbe still bought even though none of them liked them, Sigurd’s favorite TV Show that he would watch with Heahmund now, the stupid jingles on the radio that Sigurd had insisted on singing in the car. Even two years later he was battling his demons and he knew that he had a long way ahead of him still. It was like Heahmund had once told him; he could expect waking up one day and everything was magically fixed. However, at least now the nights didn't seem so dark anymore. Sigurd would be proud of him. He knew that. Despite all their squabbles and fights, despite sometimes hating his brother, he had loved Sigurd and Sigurd had loved him. 

※※※※※※※

Even two years later, it was weird for Bjorn to wake up knowing that Sigurd wasn’t here anymore. Even two years later, he walked through the house that his father had built for his new family, and expected to hear the sound of Sigurd plucking the strings of his guitar. Hell, he still hadn't gotten around to the fact that his father wasn't around anymore and _he_ had died many years ago now. Sometimes, Bjorn would sit in his office and it would hit him square in the jaw, the loss. He knew that his little brothers felt much the same way about it. Sometimes he would sit there and read some stupid boring document and he would think that he needed to talk to his father about the wording and then he would get up to go to his office only to stop dead in his tracks as the truth would hit him. Sometimes, he would read something and he would think that he needed to tell Sigurd about it, only for the truth to bash him over the head mercilessly. It were little things, nonsensical, stupid things that would bring him to his knees still, and yet he tried not to be too sad when that happened. All these things just meant that his father, Sigurd, even his big sister Gyda, were still around him, were still watching over him and this was their way of communicating that to him. 

He was leaving the office early today. They had agreed to have dinner together at a restaurant to honor Sigurd. The same restaurant their father had always dragged them to when there had been something to celebrate. The first time that Bjorn had ever entered that restaurant was after the birth of Ivar and the last time they had been there with their father, just the six of them, Ragnar and his sons, had been shortly before his father’s death. The restaurant held almost as many memories as the office or the house. The whole entire city of Kattegat seemed built on memories of his father and his legacy. Bjorn remembered the last time that they had been to the restaurant, though, just he and his four little brothers. They had celebrated that Sigurd had gotten into Juilliard.

Just to think that Sigurd would be living in America now, visiting them only for the holidays, hurt. Soon Ivar would leave the nest too. He harbored no illusions that he would move out soon and start his own life. Ivar had always been independent with a drive for freedom and adventure. He could see his brother travel the world and see new places just like Bjorn wanted to do when he was younger.

When he arrived at the restaurant, he saw that Ubbe and Hvitserk were already there. Ivar had told them yesterday that Heahmund would drive him over after their therapy session. They had become close friends during the last two years and Bjorn was happy to see that. Ivar had never had any friends except for Floki, It was good to see Ivar having a friend like Heahmund now, a friend he could honestly rely on and who kept challenging Ivar every day. Hvitserk was convinced though that there was more going on between those two but neither Ubbe nor Bjorn really believed that. 

As he entered the restaurant, his brothers cheered at his arrival. Already both of them had a large glass of beer in front of them. 

“Ivar’s not here yet?” Bjorn addressed the other two guys as he sat down at the same table that they would always get when they came here. From this position, they could overlook the parking lot and see most of the restaurant. Their father had liked to watch people when they had been here.

“Nope!” Hvitserk popped the p dramatically. “He’s still with his boyfriend.”

“I tell you, they are not dating!” Ubbe frowned and shoved Hvitserk’s shoulder a bit rougher than necessary. “Don't let him hear that or he’ll bite your head off!”

“Are you afraid of our dear baby brother?”

“Of course, I am!” Ubbe laughed. “Remember that time when he put ants in Sigurd’s bed just because Sigurd took the last cookie? He is vicious! He might actually be Satan! I’d rather not get on his bad side.”

“A wise man,” Bjorn nodded and patted Ubbe’s shoulder. “Our brother looks like an innocent puppy until he bears his teeth and starts growling!”

“Yeah, yeah just make fun of me, I get it.” Ubbe snorted. At that moment, Bjorn, sitting by the window, noticed Heahmund’s car pull up in front of the restaurant.

“The demon spawn arrived,” Hvitserk chuckled as he followed Bjorn’s look out of the window but Ubbe repaid him only with a roll of his eyes.

“Which one?” Ubbe snorted. “If you’d ask me, Heahmund is just as demonic as our brother.”

“Which is why they make such a great couple.”

“They are not!”

Bjorn barely paid attention to his squabbling brothers as he watched Heahmund step out of his car and how, shortly after, he helped Ivar out of the car and into his wheelchair. It was still astounding to Bjorn who saw his baby brother almost every day, how much he had changed in these past two years. He was taking his exercise very seriously, his upper body was proof of that, and his work with Floki certainly helped too. Bjorn was not arrogant enough to claim that he was responsible for that. He had to give it to Heahmund. This strange man was a good influence on his brother. 

He was surprised to see that Heahmund was actually following Ivar into the restaurant. Not that he was angry that Ivar had invited his friend to this dinner but it did surprise him that he wouldn't warn them first. 

“What's taken them so long?” Ubbe asked a few moments after both men should have entered the restaurant and still not appeared in sight. Bjorn shrugged and turned his attention towards the entrance of the restaurant that was obscured by a giant plant. It was the middle of the week and there weren’t many customers around yet so it was easy to pick up on a new sound right away that had nothing to do with the restaurant itself. It was a dull thud-thud, always coming twice followed by the sound of something dragging over the floor. And then, finally, Ivar came into view. Ivar, who was no longer sitting in his wheelchair. Ivar, who was gripping a set of metal crutches tightly - his knuckles turning white from the effort. He barely noticed Heahmund trailing after his brother with his wheelchair. His only focus rested on Ivar, _walking_ , towards their table. Walking. 

Ubbe got up in surprise as he saw his brother slowly making his way towards their table. And slow his march was. They could see how much effort and strength it cost Ivar to force his legs forward. His right leg barely followed his command and he was dragging his foot with him for the most part, but his left leg actually bent with each step. 

The memory of how Ivar had started walking hit him without warning. He remembered taking a photo of how he had stood on Ubbe’s feet while doing so, squealing with delight. He remembered the feeling he had had when he watched Ivar walk for the very first time and he recognized that it felt almost the same now that he witnessed Ivar coming towards them. As he had almost reached the table, his legs gave in but he managed to keep upright on his crutches and Heahmund was right there to help him back into his wheelchair before he could actually fall. 

With a proud grin on his face, Ivar carefully lowered himself into the wheelchair before Ubbe could rush towards him and pull him into a bone-crushing hug and press a kiss to the side of his head. “That was the surprise you were talking about?” Hvitserk grinned widely and Bjorn could see the moisture in his brother’s blue eyes even though Hvitserk tried to hide it. 

“He trained all week” Heahmund replied before Ivar could, a lopsided grin on his face and badly concealed pride in his eyes. “To have a big entrance.”

“As I said before and will repeat until my dying day: he’s a drama queen!” Hvitserk hollered and actually got a crooked smile as a response from Ivar as Ubbe finally released him to sit back down on his chair at last. Heahmund cleared his throat eventually and Bjorn felt compelled, as the head of the family, to tell the man to sit down with them, but he didn't even get the chance as Heahmund turned to Ivar.

“I’m off now,” He told the youngest of the four brothers. “Call me.” With that, and much to Ubbe and his surprise, Heahmund leaned down and captured their brother’s lips in a chaste kiss before taking the crutches Ivar had used and leaving the restaurant as if nothing had happened. Ivar too proceeded to grab the menu in front of him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened - the redness of his ears betrayed him, though. Hvitserk, on the other hand, couldn't be more triumphant as he raised his beer glass in a silent toast to Ivar and declared:

“I fucking knew it!”

**-End of Chapter 11-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that! Thank you for sticking with me and this story. I had a blast writing it. Also, if you are interested, I have started another Vikings fanfic! Maybe you want to check it out <3  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631148/chapters/67603646


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